


Invictus (Theatrical Cut)

by Deos



Category: Vinland Saga (Anime), Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, First Time, Knotting, M/M, Omega Verse, Oral Sex, Parallel perspectives, read the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25542175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deos/pseuds/Deos
Summary: They say that the will of Odin flashes out of the blue. Thorfinn learns just how true this is.This is the trimmed version of the story, it includes Thorfinn's perspective only!
Relationships: Askeladd/Thorfinn (Vinland Saga)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 70





	1. Mercenary

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my awesome betas [Wander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimObai/pseuds/KimObai) and [ar_la_ma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ar_lath_ma/pseuds/ar_lath_ma), and [Suffermouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suffermouse/pseuds/Suffermouse) for checking for setting accuracy!
> 
> For those of you wondering why this story has been broken into two versions, it came to my attention that the whole thing was a bit long to read. Thus, for your reading pleasure, I have broken it into a this version, and the other. Nothing has been altered, saved the exclusion of Askeladd's perspective in this version.

_"Sometimes I wonder whether I did not fight it so hard that I made it happen myself."_

_-Cluegirl 'Can't Take the Sky'_

  
  


"Hey, Thorfinn! What're you doing back here? Too short to keep up?" 

Thorfinn looked up just in time to see a grubby hand descend, grinding his scalp and mussing his hair. It was Fafnir, a big lunkhead who was one of the newest additions to Askeladd’s mercenary band, and someone who was apparently too stupid to heed the other men’s warnings about provoking him.

Ducking out of Fafnir’s grip, Thorfinn's hands went instinctively for his daggers. He fucking hated being touched. 

"Whoa, calm down kid!" Fafnir's palms went up, mouth wide in an 'o' of dumb surprise. "I was just joking!"

"Yeah? I don't fucking care. Don't touch me again," Thorfinn snapped, edging away from his stare. He thought he saw Fafnir roll his eyes, but whatever. As long as everyone left him alone. 

He scuffed his feet, slowing until he’d widened the distance between himself and the end of the caravan. Back here the air was fresher, the breeze dissipating some of the oppressive alpha stink. Was it Saturday yet? Everyone smelled so fucking _bad_. Hauling the longboats was hard work, and for the first time he was glad he was too short to help; he thought he might have puked if he was crammed in with all those dirty, sweaty bodies.

Kicking a rock up the path, he kept one eye on the bobbing serpentine heads of the boats. They crested hills and dipped into valleys, trudging endlessly across the Frankish countryside towards the North Sea. 

The wind was cool, belying the warmth of the day. Despite the heat, the greenery of the forests was beginning to turn; the verdant leaves edged in orange. Fall was coming. He could see it, smell it on the wind – a crisp, dry scent that reminded him of long evenings and moldering leaves.

Gradually he became aware of a new smell filtering through the air, this one distinctly human. A quick glance up and he caught sight of the back of a black breastplate and a thatch of blonde hair emerging from the back of the caravan.

Askeladd.

 _Fuck._ What did _he_ want? There was no question that he was after Thorfinn; Askeladd _always_ led the convoy. This had something to do with Fafnir, he knew it. Fucker had probably bitched to the other mercenaries, and the word had spread all the way to the front. For a bunch of murderers they were as gossipy as old fishwives.

Now he was going to get a talking too. The confrontation was inevitable, but that didn't mean he wouldn’t make it difficult. Bastard deserved that much. 

Slowing his steps as much as he dared, Thorfinn watched the back of the convoy stray further and further away. He was shuffling, barely moving at all. Still Askeladd drew nearer, his scent kindling strongly on the breeze. 

_Hmm._

It was the strangest thing: Askeladd didn't smell like the other alphas. He hadn’t noticed that until now. All the rest of them had a musky, briny overtone, but where it deepened to an almost pungent cheesiness, Askeladd’s scent.. didn’t. The smell was every bit as intense, but it was less sour, darker, like fertile soil or rich vegetation. Maybe because he was lazing about in the cart up front while everyone else worked, but somehow Thorfinn didn't think so.

The distinction annoyed him for reasons he couldn’t put his finger on. But there was no time to think about it. Askeladd had stopped in the middle of the path; there was no way around him now. _Fuck!_ Thorfinn picked up his steps, hastening the inevitable.

Askeladd’s shadow fell over him. 

"Hey, Thorfinn." A heavy weight dropped onto his shoulders, pulling him flush to Askeladd’s hard breastplate. He tensed. 

" _What?"_

Oh how he ached to just throw Askeladd’s arm off. But that would earn him _the look_ , that knowing smirk that meant Askeladd knew he’d gotten under his skin. He hated that look more than the touch.

"I hear you've been causing trouble." A squeeze on his shoulder. "Picking fights. Now why would that be?" Askeladd's voice oozed false concern, a syrupy tone that clawed at Thorfinn's nerves. He was so fucking _patronizing_. 

"Wouldn't _be_ trouble if people would just _stay outta my way_ ," he ground out. 

Askeladd didn't understand, _couldn't_ understand what it was like to be teased by those fuckwits day in and day out. 

Askeladd shook his head. "No, that's not possible. You're part of my crew, that means you get along with my crew. If you want to go at it alone, by all means-" he gestured to the lush Frankish countryside in a sweeping arc, "-go!" 

Thorfinn glared at Askeladd, hating him. They both knew he wouldn’t. He was tethered here until he avenged his father. 

“But while you're here, you follow my rules. Got it?”

When Thorfinn didn’t reply, Askeladd pushed his face close, a shocking, unwelcome press of heat. His scent was everywhere. It filled Thorfinn's nose, salty and earthen, inescapable – and instinctively he bared his teeth, growling at the intrusion.

Something warm on his neck. Askeladd's fingers, tickling lightly at his nape, threatening to scruff him like he was a naughty child. 

With effort, he muffled the growl. _"I. Got. It."_

For a moment, it seemed like Askeladd wasn't going to let him go. He lingered, nearly nose to nose, then drew back. "Great!" He slapped Thorfinn's shoulder, feigning friendliness. "I have your word. Good talk."

With one last pat, he left. 

Thorfinn watched him go with relief. He resisted the urge to sniff at his shoulders, instead rubbing at the spot Askeladd had touched to scrub the feel of his hand away. 

Fine. Askeladd didn't want trouble? He'd just fucking avoid the convoy the rest of the way to the ocean. No big deal. It just gave him a decent excuse to get away from all the bullshit.

Thorfinn stopped on the trail under the pretense of picking a rock out of his shoe, watching until the caravan had disappeared over the next hill before straightening up. He followed at a sedate pace, irritation gradually fading. Yes. Staying away was better.

With no one to watch, his shoulders slumped. It wasn't until he felt the ache in his lax muscles that he realized that he'd been holding himself so taut in the first place. 

The sun was warm, the breeze cool, the air fresh. Why hadn't he done this before? All he needed to do was tip his nose to the wind and follow the trail and he'd know where he needed to be-

 _No._ Abruptly he realized: he _had_ done this before.

How had he forgotten? All those months trailing Askeladd's group, sneaking into the longboats, scrambling after the convoy as they razed their way through the countryside. Hiding in the forests, hungry and vengeful. Waiting. Honing his skills. Running after them on legs that had been so much shorter. 

Reaching, always reaching.

It was a bitter thought. Melancholy stole through him, dampening his burgeoning satisfaction. His leash might be longer, but he was still trailing after them like a whipped dog. He would never be free. Not until he had avenged his father.

A gust of wind ruffled Thorfinn's hair, blowing it into his eyes. He brushed it away, growling under his breath. Thinking about this shit was fucking pointless. He needed to focus on what lay ahead: the journey across the sea. 

There would be raids and looting, possibly more opportunities to hone his skills. He was unfamiliar with the Frankish lands, but the scenery here was distinctly wild; no roads that he could see, and even the path they followed was narrow and overgrown. Probably just a bunch of little farming villages. 

Whatever. A break from all this walking would be nice. Maybe there would even be barley, oats or potatoes in some of the larders. Small comforts not seen here on the road. 

Perhaps, for a little while, he could forget.

They bedded down in a forest just off the road that night, and Thorfinn made sure to set his camp upwind. He couldn’t sleep with that smell blowing past his nose. 

When he woke the next morning and rolled over, he was thoroughly distracted by a tug from below. His cock was hard. That wasn’t unusual; it happened most mornings, after all. But what _was_ odd was that it had started happening randomly. When he was walking. Or sharpening his blades. Or doing nothing at all. It was getting to be pretty embarrassing – just last week during Saturday washings he’d been thinking of nothing at all, and suddenly he’d gotten hard. No amount of waiting had taken care of it, so he’d waded deep into the water and had himself off, eyes squeezed shut against the sight of twenty other nude mercenaries.

Thorfinn stretched, feeling a tingle of sensation as he rubbed against his pants. Well, now wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t going to go away, and he was alone...

He took care of himself at his leisure, shooting off into the grass, then got up. Another long day of walking awaited.

They came upon the village just as the sun was sinking behind the trees. Thorfinn watched the men stow the boats and then gather, ringed around Askeladd just below the crest of the hill overlooking the village. He stayed behind. There was no need to get close enough to hear; he already knew what the plan would be.

Askeladd liked to attack at dusk. He was predictable that way, always choosing what was, in Thorfinn's opinion, the coward's approach. Killing an unsuspecting enemy might be pragmatic, but it was dishonorable. 

_Then again, did he expect any less? The man had-_

He tamped down on the thought before it could finish. Still the familiar anger crept through him, pricking and burning until he felt hot with rage, sparking with energy. When Askeladd gave the order it was almost a relief; he channeled the rage into speed, hurtling through the darkness, pushing himself until his legs were on fire and he had outstripped even the fastest mercenaries.

By the time he reached the village outskirts his muscles burned, but he felt a little better. More in control. The anger only smoldered now, and he was content to hang back, letting the more bloodthirsty men take the lead.

The crash of boots against doors heralded the violent start of the night, and as the screams began Thorfinn clung to the village periphery, waiting. For him, pillaging little places like this was mostly an exercise in cleanup; killing helpless people brought him no pleasure. 

“ _Please...no…_ ” 

The whisper of a voice drew him. Thorfinn followed raspy breaths to the mouth of a home, where a man hung half-in and half out of the doorway. His hands reached, churning the ground weakly. Red bloomed around a tear in the back of his shirt in an insidious, liquid creep.

Thorfinn curled his lip. He knew who was responsible for this. _Ivar, that useless fucker._ He was always so shoddy with his attacks; the wound may have been mortal, but it wasn’t clean. Had it been a finger’s width further to the right, this man might’ve been mobile enough to escape. 

He knelt, planting one knee in the man’s back to hold him still. Lining his dagger up, he slid it smoothly between the man’s ribs, waiting until those burbling breaths ceased, then withdrew the blade.

Poking his head over the threshold, he saw the shadowed forms of two bodies inside, unmoving. At least Ivar had gotten _something_ right.

Thorfinn finished off another three before the night was out, then left, not sticking around to help with burning the bodies. He’d done enough. Besides, the stink of alphas and blood and waste had blended into something truly noxious; it had gotten into his nose, making his head throb. 

Pushing his way through the woods, he walked to where the boats were stowed then went past them deeper into the forest. The men would likely come back to drag them into town tonight, and he didn’t want to be here when they did. He craved silence and darkness. Pulling his waterskin off his belt he drank deeply, frowning when it had no effect at all upon his headache. _Hopefully, sleep takes care of it_. 

There was a patch of dirt at the base of a knotted old tree ringed by bushes; as private a place as anywhere in the woods could be. As he curled up, part of him thought longingly of a bed in the village – having his own house would be warm and comfortable – but he knew he couldn't. The only time he'd ever tried to claim one, he'd been tossed out on his ass. Competition for beds was fierce, made fiercer by the scarcity of resources. He’d make do here.

Besides, wherever the men were, he didn't want to be.

Pillowing his head on his waterskin, Thorfinn tried to sleep. It didn’t come easily. The chirp of the night insects seemed very loud tonight; high and whining instead of buzzing, like he’d caught a mosquito in his ear. That was annoying, but what was worse was, despite the fact that he was upwind from the village, the dirty smell of alpha sweat and blood seemed to be stuck in his nose. He stuck his face into the grass, willing the clean green scent to scrub it away – but it didn’t. 

Now he just smelled dirt and grass on top of everything, a scent that was suspiciously familiar. The longer he sniffed the more his brain insisted that yes, he _had_ smelled this before, but the name danced on the edge of his mind, eluding him. Another long, slow breath and his cock was stirring, swelling to full hardness.

 _What the fuck?_

It didn't make sense. He'd never gotten hard when he felt _this_ lousy. Rolling to his side, he tried to ignore it; sleep would come, if he waited long enough.

...

Twenty minutes later, he was forced to acknowledge that it wasn’t working. His erection lay like an iron bar against his belly, throbbing in time with his head. It was irritating. Almost worse than the headache; it was an itch crawling beneath his skin. Even though he could fix that problem, he'd never felt less like masturbating in his life. Pain and pleasure were not supposed to mix. 

But his body didn't care. It hurt, and it wanted. 

Reaching down, Thorfinn took himself in hand and had it off quickly. As soon as it was done he felt relieved; on a pure physical level it had been pleasant, though the effort tightened the pain like a vice around his temples. Better was the resulting wave of exhaustion softening the edge of his headache. This time when he closed his eyes, sleep came for him.


	2. Presented

The next morning, his headache was gone, as was the weird sensitivity of his nose. _Thank fuck for that_. Thorfinn got up, feeling refreshed, and headed toward town to search for a well. 

The village was dark and silent, the first glimmers of pre-dawn light casting everything in stark blue shadow. Everyone was still asleep. That was fine by him; Thorfinn wanted to finish his business here and be gone before they woke.

He padded through the dirt like a ghost, alert for any sound. Casting a wary eye over the crooked and missing doors – _that was what the idiots got for kicking everything in_ – he was glad that none of the nearest houses were Askeladd's. He and Bjorn were early risers, and the very people he didn't want to be seen by. Luckily, all the men in the houses flanking the narrow street weren’t; Tore, Atli, Skarde, and-

Thorfinn blinked, startled. _He could tell who was in each house._ How was that possible? He hadn’t ever noticed that before, had he? Or was this just his memory of the usual configuration? Plenty of the mercenaries formed cliques, each choosing neighboring houses or setting up camp together when they were on the road.

No, that wasn’t it. It was… the _smell._ He tilted his nose up, taking a deep breath. _Yes, that was it_. Each individual scent filtered through the still morning air, as distinct as voices calling his name. 

He remembered how sensitive his nose had been last night. Until now he had thought it to be a by-product of his headache, but… hadn't everyone smelled terrible for the whole of the last week, even before that? 

Thorfinn shook his head, then continued walking. In the end, did it really matter? So, he could smell more. As long as the smells weren't bad enough to make him sick, he didn’t really care. 

At the center of the village was a dense pile of ashes, fragments of blackened skulls and the thick shafts of long bones, browned and cracked. The charred bodies of the village's old inhabitants. Just adjacent to that, the well. 

Thorfinn hauled up a bucket of water, wincing as the windlass screeched with each turn of the handle, and submerged his waterskin inside. As the air bubbled out, he heard something creak. 

He glanced around. There was Arne, emerging from the nearest house. _Damn._

The big alpha was scratching his bare, hairy belly, but at the sight of Thorfinn he waved a lazy hello and started toward him. Resigned, Thorfinn tapped the remaining air out of the waterskin, then capped it. He'd offer the bucket. Maybe that would distract Arne so he could slip away without any pointless conversation.

The bucket sloshed as Thorfinn thrust it forward, and Arne had gotten close enough to extend a hand when he stopped. He cocked his head then tilted his chin up, breathing in great, stuffy-sounding whooshes.

"Thorfinn?" Arne’s eyes widened. "That's _you?_ "

Thorfinn frowned, nonplussed. "Yes it's me, dumbass." He shoved the bucket into Arne's frozen hands and tied his waterskin to his belt, preparing to leave. 

"You've presented?" The strange, almost wondering tone of his voice brought Thorfinn up short.

"I what?"

Arne sniffed again. "You. You've presented."

_You’ve presented._

Yes, he’d heard that word before. He grasped for the memory blindly, feeling for something that wouldn’t catch. Presenting. _Presenting…_ wait. _That was it._ Presenting was _maturing_. Coming of age. They’d had ceremonies for that back in his home village, yearly festivities that his parents had dragged both he and Ylva to. 

He hadn't cared much about the significance then; much more important had been the honeyed bread, lamb, and the occasional sip of _syra_ his father had slipped him, reserved specially for these events. Now he understood. _Presenting_ was what they called it when someone manifested their role – alpha, beta, or omega.

He looked down, as though he expected to have suddenly grown taller. Wasn’t presenting supposed to be a big change? He didn't feel any different.

_Scent in his nose, so thick and strong that it was almost sickening._

_Throbbing, pounding pain in his head._

Had those been signs?

Thorfinn lifted his shirt to his nose, sniffing. Nothing. He couldn’t smell the change in himself. But everything else did smell richer, more complex. Was this what an alpha's nose was like? 

A loud, wet sniff in his ear. He turned to see Arne _right there_ , so close his beard was brushing Thorfinn's shoulder. 

"Will you knock it off?" he elbowed Arne in the gut. Arne, unprepared for it, dropped the bucket, spilling water all over their feet. 

Thorfinn jumped away, annoyed to see that Arne didn't seem to care in the slightest that he’d soaked Thorfinn’s shoes. Instead the other man was trailing after him, as though drawn by an invisible rope. Was everyone this weird about new alphas? 

"What is your problem?" he hissed, backing away. 

Arne took a step closer, his eyes dazed and somehow dreamy. "You smell like an omega." 

“No I don’t!” Thorfinn denied automatically, only half-understanding. _Omega_ was not _alpha_ , the word he had expected, and that meant it had to be wrong. Alphas and betas, that was what most people were, and an alpha was what his father had been. It was what _he_ was. Not an _omega_.

But even as his mind refused it, part of him turned the term over, examining it. Omegas. He’d heard of them, alright – heard the men joke about them in passing, heard crude references to their talents -

_Quit whining like a little omega bitch and pick up your fucking feet, Erik!_

_She was a real wildcat in the sack last night, it was like I had an omega in heat-_

_You? You didn’t have no fuckin’ omega, bullshit!_

-but there had been no omegas in his village. He’d never met one. All he knew concretely was that King Sweyn had some to breed heirs, and that they would fuck anything, given the chance. 

“Mm, yeah, I think you are,” Arne continued, creeping closer. “Chief had one in my village as a slave. Smelled a lot like you.” 

Thorfinn didn’t like how Arne was looking at him. The haze had faded from his blue eyes, becoming something sharp and almost crafty. “S’not a bad smell, you know.” 

“Fuck off, Arne.”

From behind him, the scuff of feet. Thorfinn looked to see Skarde wandering out of a neighboring house. He was picking his underwear out of his ass as he approached, but he too froze when he’d got closer. “Thorfinn? Is that you?”

Cold was creeping into his chest, a feeling that had nothing to do with the morning chill. Skarde had that same wide-eyed look, and was flaring his nostrils in a not-so-subtle attempt to scent the air. 

“Thorfinn’s presented,” Arne said gleefully, pointing at him. “He’s an omega. Can you smell it?”

“ _I am not!”_

“Is that was that is?” Skarde completely ignored his protests, bulling right into Thorfinn’s face to snuffle loudly. “Well I’ll be damned.”

Thorfinn bared his teeth, snapping so that Skarde jolted back on his heels. “I’m not a fucking omega you assholes, I’m an alpha!”

Arne laughed. “You ain’t no alpha, kid. No way.”

Thorfinn rounded on him. Arne was grinning, a stupid, gap-toothed spread of teeth that he itched to put his fist into. “Yeah, how do you know?”

“You’re pretty small for an alpha," Arne said. "And alphas have knots. You ever knotted anyone?”

That brought him up short. _Knotting_. Another term he’d heard bandied between the men, knotting this-or-that woman, being so hard up their knots were swelling. He’d even seen one a few years ago when he’d gone into the woods to piss and saw Ulrik going at himself. A swollen area at the base of the dick. He’d always just assumed he’d get that when he was older, but what if… what if it was _always_ supposed to have been there?

“You gotta be kidding. Thorfinn? He’s never had no woman!” Skarde roared with laughter.

His stomach twisted. They were volleying comments back and forth, teasing him like he was some stupid kid. Like he couldn’t just pull his blades out right now and gut them like the worthless carcasses they were. They were _wrong_.

“Don’t need one. If you’re horny enough you’ll get one after you cum,” Arne cut in, making an up-and-down hand gesture, like he thought Thorfinn didn’t understand what ejaculation was. “So, howabout it kid? You got a knot?”

Gritting his teeth he lowered his head, refusing to answer. He wasn’t going to have this conversation. 

“I can show you mine,” Skarde threw an arm over Thorfinn’s shoulders, his other hand fondling his own crotch. The salty smell around him was changing, becoming something darker and more complex. It peppered Thorfinn’s nose like horseradish, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. It smelled _dangerous._

Throwing Skarde’s arm off, he drew his daggers. 

“Whoa, no! I’m not gonna hurt ya!” Skarde, instantly meek and cringing, put up his hands and backed away. The scent transformed. More acidic now, like the bite of an unripe bilberry – _surprise?_ – but Thorfinn didn’t trust him. Skarde’s eyes were still far too calculating. 

Instead of stabbing the pair of them, he snatched up the fallen bucket and sawed at the rope connecting it to the well’s windlass. 

“Hey, what-”

The rope snapped. Thorfinn ran, bucket in tow, away from the two alphas. His heart was pounding, a sick feeling rising in his throat. 

_Fuck them. If they wanted water now they'd have to work for it._

He ran through the village, heedless of the fact that his feet were taking him away from the main road. Tension swelled in his chest, breathtaking in its intensity. He pushed himself faster. 

Instead of burning out, it grew, expanding with each furious beat of his heart; a live thing crawling beneath his skin, threatening to burst out. His lungs burned.

Thorfinn emerged on the opposite edge of the village and raced into the plainsland beyond, where a small herd of cattle grazed. They looked up at his approach. Wide, black eyes blinked at him, mild and curious. He skirted the cows and headed for the shadowed shape of a tree that bordered the fields, almost tripping over a low outcropping of rocks in the darkness.

In front of the tree he stopped, panting. It was gnarled, well-worn; the bark smoothed in places where countless hands and feet had gripped. But he wasn’t interested in climbing. With shaking hands he threaded the bucket's handle over a limb and pulled out his daggers.

He wanted to hurt. To sink his blades into soft flesh and rend until there was nothing left. To tear open something warm and living and watch the light bleed from its eyes – but he couldn't. He couldn't kill outside of a duel. The other mercenaries would be on him if he did, to kill him or drive him away, and then he'd never avenge his father.

Instead he swung, scoring the bucket with his blade and sending it swinging wildly on the branch. 

Skarde and Arne were fucking idiots. They didn't know shit. He was the fastest. The deadliest of the mercenaries. The one Askeladd went to when he needed things done. Of _course_ he was a fucking alpha! 

_Thwack. Thwack. Thwack._

He hit the bucket again and again, opening pale lines on the dark wood. 

What did it matter that he'd never had a knot? Or that he was small? Just because he was shorter than everyone except the Ear didn't mean anything. Just look at Bjorn; he was the biggest among all the men, and he was a _beta_.

_Thwack. Thwack. Thwack._

Thorfinn swung until his arms burned with exhaustion, then began executing snap kicks. The sun was rising. It was warm against his back, turning his shadow into a grotesque, spider-limbed giant. 

He was going to prove them wrong. No way he was an omega. He was Thorfinn, son of Thors the Troll, the strongest Viking who had ever lived. 

The village began to awaken. Scuffles of movement as the other mercenaries did their morning duties and began to raid the pantries. The squeak of the windlass turning; they must have found another bucket. Low rumbles of conversation punctuated with sudden and suspicious silences. His ears pricked at the sound of his name.

" _Thorfinn-?_

_"What is that smell?"_

_“Is that an omega?”_

Their surprised exclamations carried to him clearly. His hands tightened, the sword grips digging painfully into the meat of his palms. Wrong. All of them.

Thorfinn sliced and kicked until he began to miss his mark _,_ and his muscles trembled with exhaustion. Still, the sick feeling would not fade. 

_Thwack. Thwack._

It crawled up into his chest, sinking fiery claws into his throat and behind his eyes. Distracting. So distracting in fact that he almost didn't notice someone approaching until the soft swish of grass caught his attention. 

His nostrils flared. The scent came to him, and Thorfinn kept up his attack on the bucket, refusing to flinch or look. 

The footsteps stopped directly behind him.

With one furious leap, he hooked the bottom of the bucket with the tip of his boot and sent it flying off the end of the branch, right over his head. He turned in time to see Askeladd catch the handle expertly, then toss it right back. _Fucker._ Thorfinn smacked it to the ground.

Askeladd was staring at him, blue eyes cool and knowing. Thorfinn couldn't fucking stand that look. It was completely fake; forcibly smooth and blank, like Askeladd was trying deliberately not to laugh. 

"What do you want?" He snatched up the bucket and turned his back.

"So, you've presented." The statement came, blunt as the butt of an axe. "An omega, are you?"

A pulse of bright hate rocked through him, almost dizzying in its intensity. _Fucking bastard._

He didn't answer. Instead he shoved the bucket back onto the branch and began to slice again, imagining each hit scoring a bloody line across Askeladd's face. _Bastard. Bastard. Bastard!_

Askeladd seemed unable to take the hint. He stood quietly behind Thorfinn, who felt the weight of his gaze like a hand curling slowly around his throat. Just when he thought he might scream, Askeladd spoke up.

"You'll be the first omega I've ever allowed in my crew, you know."

Another surge of energy. It leapt through him, hot, unbidden, maddening – and his strike went high. The edge of his dagger screeched as it dragged across the bucket’s handle, and Thorfinn muffled a curse. He ran his thumb over the blade’s edge, feeling for chips.

"Walk with me," Askeladd said, and strode away from the village towards the forest.

Thorfinn watched him go. His heart hammered against his ribcage, and for the first time he realized that he was panting. The energy that had sparked through him like chain fire had disappeared as quickly as it had come.

He looked from Askeladd's retreating back to the village, torn. A direct order; he couldn't disobey it. Yet the looming threat of what would undoubtedly be an unpleasant discussion was a strong deterrent. And, it was _Askeladd._ Anything he had to say wasn't something Thorfinn wanted to hear. 

Clenching his teeth, he trailed after. 

Pushing into the forest, Thorfinn followed the narrow path that Askeladd had set on, feeling the faintest hint of relief. He was away from the whispers and stares. After this he could hang back, stay hidden for a while and catch up with the convoy after they were well underway. Then everyone would be too busy working to gossip about him like nosy old women.

The rustle of movement ahead of him stopped. Thorfinn's stomach gave a queasy lurch as he stepped out into the edge of a clearing. Askeladd was waiting. 

"Spill it, kid."

Askeladd’s back was to him as he surveyed the forest, and that was just fine with Thorfinn. He didn't want to fucking look at him anyway. Angling his face away, he went back to examining the edge of his sword. No chips, thank Odin. 

When he peeked out of the corner of his eye, he saw Askeladd watching him.

“Let me guess: you’re pissed at not being an alpha.”

He could actually feel his face pounding. Heat rushed to his cheeks, so fast that his skin prickled and itched. Thorfinn slid his daggers back into their sheaths before he could do something really stupid, like hurl them right at Askeladd's face.

As though he had sensed Thorfinn's thoughts, the corner of Askeladd's mouth twitched downwards in a grimace. "I thought so." He sighed heavily. "Well, as you might have already figured out, life isn't fair. The sooner you accept that, the happier you'll be."

The blood rushed in Thorfinn's ears. _That_ advice from _that_ man was so fucking trite he couldn't stop himself from snapping. "Easy for you to say. _You're_ an alpha!" 

As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them. His teeth clacked when he snapped his jaw closed, narrowly avoiding pinching his tongue. 

_Fuck_. His heart clenched. It was as good as an admission.

Askeladd snorted, oblivious to his distress. "Are you joking? Being an alpha is nothing but a pain in my ass. Petty posturing and teeth baring and squabbling like animals over land and women. You omegas have it easy. Put up with a little bullshit and you could control a kingdom."

_You omegas_. Thorfinn narrowed his eyes, but was too intrigued by Askeladd's last sentence to snap again. 

Askeladd raised a brow, a little smile playing on his lips. "What, you don't know? Kings are controlled by their concubines, boy." 

At that the queasy feeling returned, so intense that he felt acid scorch the back of his throat. Oh yes, the famed omegas of King Sweyn. Only good for sucking and fucking and having babies; he couldn’t imagine how anyone considered that position one of power. Askeladd was bullshitting him, the asshole.

“Don’t wanna be someone’s _fucktoy,”_ he growled. 

Askeladd threw up his hands. “Then don’t! Being an omega is what you make of it. Just like being a beta or an alpha." He shook his head, like he thought Thorfinn was an idiot, then walked away, muttering under his breath.

Then Thorfinn was alone in the clearing.

It was very quiet once the rustling of Askeladd's passage had faded. Gradually the birds began to chirp again, and the forest picked up the furtive sounds of things moving through the undergrowth. 

For the first time that day Thorfinn's mind was silent. It was like every thought had rushed out of him in the wake of Askeladd's departure, leaving him completely hollow. Lethargic. He'd been awake less than two hours, and already he was so fucking tired.

How long he stood in that blank, almost meditative trance he didn't know. It was long enough for sunlight to begin advancing across the clearing, long enough for his muscles to begin to stiffen and ache from his earlier escapades. 

_Fucking Askeladd_. 

The thought of Askeladd didn't stir his usual rage, but it was enough to get him moving. He grunted a little as the first steps elicited a rusty spike of pain in his joints, but made his way out of the forest. 

The village was empty. It seemed the convoy had moved on.

Thorfinn took his time drawing another pail of water, slaking his thirst, and investigating the remnants of the houses. The scents were fresh enough to be read easily. He'd catch up in no time.

But, did he _want_ to catch up? He could always just… make his own way.

Instantly his honor railed against the idea. He had to. His father _must_ be avenged.

A trickle of anger flowed through him at the thought, but it was muffled by the weight of his exhaustion. The burden of honor was heavy. 

_Thors, larger than life, his shadow tall enough to blot out the sun._

_The maroon blossoms spreading across his father's tunic._

_A hand stroking his hair, infinitely gentle._

_The rough, pained breaths that trembled through him until his father collapsed, dead._

After so many years, the memories no longer had the power to make him cry, but he felt them acutely. They cut through his torpor like a lash, driving him towards the road with renewed energy.

He had been training for years. Honing his speed, sharpening his blades. He was every bit as strong as those other alphas, who apparently couldn't dig the dirt out of their noses enough to recognize it. 

_I am an alpha._

He would prove them all wrong.

* * *

For two days he tracked the convoy by scent, too sore to pick up his pace and still too annoyed by his prior reception to want to come within eyesight of the other mercenaries. Shitheads, the lot of them. It was only the thought of what they might be doing to his father's boat that spurred him to catch up on the third day.

He should've known no harm would come to it; Askeladd took care of what he valued, and a well-built craft was nearly priceless. Still he inspected it thoroughly after everyone had gone to bed. Perfectly fine, minus the new scratches and dents gained during their reckless charge on the Frankish stronghold.

Everything was fine. He didn't hear any more smartass 'omega' remarks out of anyone either, which was a relief. No, now his problem was something completely different: everyone was acting fucking weird.

For the sixth time in two days he found himself on the end of a one-sided conversation as someone he had spoken less than ten sentences to in his whole life – Herlief, this time – approached him. He stared at Herlief in plain confusion when the man sidled up to him and opened with “Nice day, huh Thorfinn?”

It was a day like any other. Clear and cool, the threat of fall creeping closer. Nothing remarkable in the slightest, except that instead of being alone he now had a tall, blonde alpha pretending to be his friend.

Herlief, just like the others, seemed intent on trying to engage him, paying no mind to the fact that Thorfinn was ignoring him. It was only when Thorfinn saw Herlief’s eyes dart toward him, nostrils flaring that he got angry enough to growl and walk away. 

Herlief did not follow. That made him at least marginally smarter than the others, but the very fact he had even attempted grated. _Stupid_. Like Thorfinn wanted to be friends with any of them anyway.

He’d never been popular among the mercenaries. Even as a child he’d been mostly ignored, brushed off or given the boot, like he was a nuisance. It hadn’t changed much as he’d gotten older. He was still ignored, but he was self-sufficient now, savvy enough to make his own way without sniveling and scrabbling in the dirt, fast enough with his blades to be a threat. 

He had _respect_. At least a little. Occasionally he’d be given a slap on the back for a good kill, or a thanks for an assist, but there was still distance between him and the rest of them; a yawning chasm that could never be bridged. 

Only now, people were trying. And it was fucking annoying. 

Walking closer to him. Talking to him. Still whispering about him when they thought he wasn’t near enough to hear. He’d catch eyes on him every time he turned around. And the looks on their faces were something he’d come to recognize; it was the same look that Askeladd wore anytime he called Thorfinn to the front of the attack formation. 

They _wanted_ something from him.

Well, he didn’t want fuck-all from them. And he didn’t like how some of them couldn’t seem to take a hint; Ulf, Ivar, and Skarde especially. They had given up on talking to him – after enough “fuck offs” even _they_ had gotten the hint – but they still just sort of… lingered. Staying in the back of the convoy. Even bedding down near him, close enough that he’d had to move his camp twice. He didn’t fucking understand it, especially when Skarde had been such an asshole earlier in the week.

Thorfinn refused to let them get to him. He'd just have to be vigilant until this stupidity died down.

A week and a half after he’d presented, he was making his solitary camp deep in the darkening woods. According to Askeladd they were five day’s trek from the next village; still too far for his comfort. Everyone was getting antsy. _He_ was getting antsy; even though he was bedding down, he felt the urge to move like ants marching beneath his skin. 

Ignoring it was impossible. As a last resort he had himself off, letting release force him into exhaustion, and finally sleep.

_Snik._

The sound of a twig snapping.

Thorfinn’s eyes popped open. He scrambled to his feet, instantly alert. daggers held before him, he scanned the shadowed treeline, looking for the source.

Nothing.

The wind whispered through the trees, moon-gilded leaves glimmering like stars. He saw the motions, dismissed them, looked through them, hoping to spy the furtive shifting of a body or shine of a blade. Still, nothing. Padding in a widening circle, he began to feel a little foolish. Maybe it had been a deer. 

But it wasn’t. Ten yards away he finally picked up a scent that was unmistakably Skarde’s. Skarde and another… Askeladd?

Thorfinn frowned. Skarde’s scent came from downwind, in the direction of where the rest of the men had bedded. Askeladd’s did too, but it was even further downwind, like he had been tracking Skarde. Their scents met and mingled, moving in a steady line out of the forest.

Curious, Thorfinn followed. 

He tracked them to the edge of the forest, then paused. From here the land dipped, becoming a wide, open valley. There, partway down the hill were Skarde and Askeladd.

He was too far away to hear what they were saying, only able to make out the black shapes of them against the grass, which glowed blue under the cold light of the moon. Askeladd leaned close to Skarde. His stance was loose and easy, but Skarde was rigid, poised like he was expecting an attack. What was Askeladd saying to him? 

After a long moment, Skarde nodded, then turned and walked away, so fast he was almost running. For one terrifying moment Thorfinn thought that Skarde was coming right at him, but Skarde veered, angled in the direction of the longboats. 

What had happened?

Whatever it was, Askeladd seemed unbothered; he was still standing on the hill, now looking up at the stars. For several long seconds Thorfinn watched Askeladd’s unmoving back, torn between curiosity and self-preservation. In the end, he retreated. He didn’t want to be standing there when Askeladd turned – he had the distinct feeling that he’d be spotted instantly. 

Sleep came slowly after that. He felt uneasy; two people had been wandering around within attacking distance of his camp while he slept. Even if they were only having a discussion, it felt odd. _Sneaky._ It gave him that same sense of danger he’d sensed from Skarde the day he’d presented – nebulous, but unmistakable. 

In the end, he climbed a tree. High above the ground, wedged between the boughs he finally felt safe enough to close his eyes. 

The next day, Skarde didn’t trouble him at all. 


	3. Fight

They made steady progress towards the next town, and slowly the overt attention faded. Everyone finally seemed to be taking the hint that he wanted to be left alone. 

Relieved, Thorfinn let his thoughts drift. He was watching the bobbing head of his father’s longboat, thinking idly about Askeladd’s prediction that they’d be to the next village within a day and a half when sudden warmth and a low snuffling breath ghosted along his neck. Almost simultaneously, something brushed his ass.

His daggers were in his hands in a heartbeat, and he whirled, bringing them to bear just in time to see wide, green eyes. Lashing out, he opened up a cut on Ulf’s cheek as he leapt out of arm’s reach, heart pounding with rage. _What. The._ _Fuck._ Nobody touched him like that!

Even as he skittered away his anger turned inward, pricking him like a hot needle. _Stupid_. He had gotten careless. 

Thorfinn fell into a defensive stance, but his opponent seemed startled by the turn of events. Ulf’s hands were still frozen, open-palmed, hovering just below waist level. Had Ulf been about to _grope_ him? 

Even as Thorfinn watched the expression on Ulf’s face shifted from one of shock, to confusion, then, as he reached a hand up to feel his cheek, to rage.

“You little shit!” 

Thorfinn kept his blades up, shifting to the balls of his feet in case Ulf decided to attack. He had time. The instant Ulf reached for his axe he’d end it. 

Ulf’s yell attracted the attention of the convoy. There was a flurry of confused sounds, then the stamping of feet as people rushed toward them. He shot a look over his shoulder. A number of the men had peeled away from the back of the caravan, but stopped, as though afraid to interfere. They formed a loose ring around him and Ulf, and then the shouting began.

“What happened?”

“Is there a duel?”

“Fight!”

His anger felt as keen as the point of his daggers. He’d love to oblige them. Let Ulf learn his lesson the hard way, if he survived.

“What’s going on here?”

Askeladd’s voice cut through the shouting, and silence descended as suddenly as a lightning strike. He pushed his way into the circle, looking between them. 

“The little fucker cut me just out of nowhere!” Ulf accused, and Thorfinn felt blood rush to his face. _Dirty rat_. Trying to pin all of this on him!

“Bullshit it was out of nowhere! You were sniffing me, bastard!” He shot a look at Askeladd, infuriated. The fight was as good as over, and he just bet that Askeladd was going to take Ulf’s side. He knelt, wiped the tip of his blade in the dirt. “And don’t think I didn’t feel your hands. Keep them to yourself or next time, or you lose them.” 

“That’s enough, Thorfinn,” Askeladd said, flicking a dismissive hand his way. _Of course._ Whatever. He didn’t want to stay here anyway. Pushing his way through the ring, Thorfinn retreated before Askeladd could call him back.

“One of you lot, stitch Ulf up!” 

Fuck him. Fuck all of them. He wasn’t going to take being manhandled. 

Still seething with rage, Thorfinn stowed his blade with a quick twist of his wrist and then held the other up to the light, looking for smudges. It shivered in his grip, and he realized he was shaking. _Fuck._

There was a small streak of blood still marring the point, and he held it between his chest and sleeve, buffing the stain out. 

Behind him, footsteps scraped in the dirt. Thorfinn looked over his shoulder, unsurprised to see Askeladd standing there. “What do you want?” 

Askeladd smiled at him, a small, cold twist of his lips that didn’t meet his eyes. “I thought I said no more picking fights?”

Another hot bolt of anger. “Didn’t you hear me baldy? _He_ instigated it!” Thorfinn bared his teeth, refusing to take the accusation lying down. “I could hear him fucking panting in my ear, _and_ he touched my ass!”

Askeladd’s eyes narrowed fractionally, but still that small smile never left his face. He leaned in, pushing his way into Thorfinn’s personal space slowly and deliberately. Trying to rattle him. Thorfinn wasn’t going to let him. He gritted his teeth as Askladd’s nose tickled the crown of his head, the quiet inhalation and exhalation stirring his hair. 

The seconds ticked by. Askeladd breathed again, if possible even slower. He was so close that his scent was all Thorfinn could smell, loamy earth and musk drowning out the crisp sweetness of the grass and wind. It was thick. _Dark_. And under that surface musk there was something more compelling, pricking his nose with a thousand subtle flavors that were changing, even as he stood there-

“Will you fuck off?” he snapped, heart thumping uncomfortably. A strange tension had seized him, slithering into his chest and _squeezing_.

Askeladd pulled back. His smile widened, becoming wicked. “You’re an omega, boy. You better get used to it.” Then he inhaled again, loud and deliberate.

“Then you better get used to your men wielding axes without their hands!” Thorfinn hissed, fingers clenched tightly into fists. Anger and unease roiled within him. He wanted to punch Askeladd for his stupid, blind assumptions, for his insistence on the ‘omega’ business – but he also wanted to flee. That tension still sat coiled in him, a snake ready to strike, tightening as he held Askeladd’s gaze.

_No._ He wasn’t going to back down this time. 

The sharp gleam in Askeladd’s eyes winked out. He shrugged, instantly aloof. “Fine. You have my permission. But _only_ if they force it, understand?” 

Thorfinn blinked. It was like Askeladd was pretending that he hadn’t just been trying to intimidate him. And- _wait._ “What?”

“You heard what I said,” came the cryptic reply, then Askeladd turned, striding purposefully back to the caravan.

_You have my permission._ The words echoed in his head, alien and confusing.

_Only if they force it._

Did that mean that… Askeladd _approved?_ That he could defend himself?

He puzzled over those words for hours, and concluded that his interpretation was right. Askeladd was going to overlook what he had done to Ulf, and potentially anything else that might come after. 

He didn’t like that.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. Some small part of him was glad for an excuse to tear into the next person who pushed his boundaries, to teach them a lesson – but he didn’t like how the whole thing hinged on Askeladd’s assumption that he was an omega. He was giving Thorfinn special treatment based on a perceived weakness. 

_Yes._ The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. It was like a briar stuck in his boot, jabbing him with each step until it was all that he could focus on. _Bastard._ Anger simmered hot inside him, mounting until he began to sweat and he had to strip off his cowl. 

_Fucking bastards_. 

The rest of that day he was left alone, and by the time he curled up for sleep he was again feeling resentful. As usual, Askeladd was singling him out. Only this time he couldn’t complain without reviving that conversation in the woods, a topic he preferred would stay dead. That must have been Askeladd’s plan all along. 

_Goddamn Askeladd._

He was still in a foul mood when he woke, and it must have been apparent to everyone because once again he was receiving odd looks. Still, no one approached him, so he let it slide. 

Now he was pissed at how damn hot the weather had turned, seemingly overnight. Even with his cowl off he was boiling up. 

What was odd was that no one else seemed bothered by the heat. They pressed on, unflagging, but at some point in the afternoon the heat vanished as suddenly as blood dissolving in a river. Then he was cold. _Really_ cold, chilled enough to shiver.

Frowning, Thorfinn slipped his cowl back on and flipped the hood up. Something was off. He just didn’t feel right. Was he getting sick? That would be just his fucking luck; weakness, especially now, was something he could not afford.

But as the day wore on, it did not improve.

By the time they'd come upon the village he knew he was coming down with something. There was a faint ache settling into his back, he felt exhausted, and he couldn't seem to stay warm. 

He went on the attack with the rest of them, but slipped away from the carnage early after nearly cutting himself with a careless swing. His head wasn’t in it. 

A comfortable distance from the village he found a tall tree shaded with huge leaves. The branches where it met the trunk were thick as his waist, growing close together and it was easy for him to tuck himself there comfortably. Here, high above the ground he felt secure. No one would be able to sneak up on him. And, he had turned in early; maybe with the extra rest he would feel better.

With that comforting thought in mind, he slept.

* * *

  
  


The next morning, he awoke to misery. 

Cold. He was so _cold_ , even though he'd fallen asleep fully clothed. It was actually his shivering that had startled him awake, knocking his shoulders against a branch hard enough to hurt.

Everything felt bruised. His neck, his wrists, his thighs – every scent gland swollen and tender. His stomach ached. When he jumped from the tree, the glassy throb in each joint made him grunt from the pain. 

_What had happened?_ This was nothing like last night! 

It only got worse. Ten minutes after waking, his gut was seized with a powerful cramp, and he had to run into the nearest copse of bushes before everything left in a hot rush.

The diarrhea continued well into the afternoon, and by the end of it he was lagging so far behind that he couldn’t see the convoy anymore. That was just as well. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this; slow and wobbly as a newborn foal. 

Sipping from his waterskin, he followed the trail. He felt hollow. Slow. Like someone had filled his brain with milkweed fluff and his guts with rocks. It reminded him of the time he'd found a dead squirrel in the woods and eaten it, only to spend the next two days exploding violently out both ends. A stupid decision, but then again he'd been only six, and desperately hungry. 

Had he eaten some bad meat? It was possible. But how likely was it that the last rabbit he'd caught was the only bad one in the forest? No one else was sick, he could smell it. And the rabbit hadn’t smelled bad either, though he couldn't say how he knew that. 

That was another thing he'd noticed – how individual scents grew more distinct with each passing day. If he closed his eyes he could almost see them; no longer nebulous but concrete, floating like colored ribbons on the fall breeze. 

It was making him feel worse. Lightheaded on top of nauseous. He tried breathing through his mouth which helped, and then drank more water, which seemed to ease the worst of it. All the diarrhea had taken an incredible toll. 

He sipped and sipped from his waterskin, apparently much thirstier than he’d realized; it was only when he was tipping the bag upside-down that he noticed he’d drunk it all.

_Fucking great._

There were barrels of fresh water with the convoy. He’d have to wait until he caught up to get more, or come in late enough to sneak in to refill his waterskin tonight. 

The latter option sounded best. The water had replenished some of his energy, but he still felt frighteningly shaky. He had the feeling that some of the mercenaries would be able to smell how weak he was, and, even with Askeladd’s permission, he didn’t relish a fight right now.

So he waited. 

That was the miserable pattern he fell into for the next two days. Wake up, shit his brains out, then guzzle water the rest of the day. It was terrible. An endless cycle; when the diarrhea abated, his stomach felt better, but the ache in his body intensified over the long hours of walking, and dehydration sapped his strength. This sickness was draining the life out of him. He couldn’t even eat; that night on his way back from replenishing his waterskin, he'd found a half-eaten skewer of rabbit and snatched it up out of instinct, only to gag after the first bite. Food was _nauseating._

It was with palpable relief that he picked up the scent of smoke the afternoon of the fourth day. It was faint, but it was there; they were nearly to the last village. Usually after a battle they would stop for a day or two to recoup, time he was banking on to recover. This endless walking wasn't helping.

Forcing himself over the next hill, a wave of dizziness swept through him. His heart was galloping. The world wavered, curling around the edges. Thorfinm bent forward, hands on his knees until the feeling passed. Yes. He _needed_ to feel better.

A rush of wind chilled him, bringing with it the slap of alpha stink. Askeladd must have halted the convoy. 

They were here.

Thorfinn stayed downwind and retreated, finding a tree with low branches. He pulled himself up with shaking arms and collapsed against the trunk, drinking deeply, eyes half-closed. He was so tired. 

The hand holding the waterskin settled on his stomach. He barely noticed the leather slipping through his fingertips; the ache in his joints and gut had settled like a miserable miasma in his brain, clouding everything. Time slipped away. Every time he blinked the sky seemed darker.

A breeze ruffled the leaves of his tree. The loamy scent of the earth filled his nose, laced with that familiar salt and musk.

Thorfinn’s eyes snapped open. He looked down to see Askeladd drifting by, his steps slow and measured. _Looking_. Thorfinn held his breath. Maybe if he stayed perfectly still, Askeladd would go away-

The waterskin slipped from his hand. Instinctively he fumbled for it, caught it, stirring the leaves. Sharp blue eyes snapped to him in an instant.

_Fuck!_

He slipped the waterskin back on to his belt, hating himself. _Of all the stupid fucking mistakes_. Now he had to listen to Askeladd bitch about whatever he’d come to talk about, or worse – what if he’d come to ask Thorfinn to assassinate someone in the village? He’d be shit out of luck.

But Askeladd did no such thing. He just stood there, staring.

“ _What?_ ” Thorfinn couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice. Let Askeladd say his piece, and then leave him the fuck alone.

Askeladd's mouth twisted in displeasure. “We’re attacking tonight, but you’re to stay behind and guard the cart along with Bjorn and Stein.”

He should’ve been pleased at that pronouncement, but he wasn’t. Here was his excuse. He could take it easy without anyone being the wiser… but that wasn’t true. Thorfinn had the strong impression that Askeladd knew _exactly_ how weak he was, and it grated. He didn’t need special treatment. Even weakened, he was still better than the other mercenaries!

“Why? I can fight!”

Askeladd raised a sardonic eyebrow at him. "Because the village will be able to smell you coming. You reek, kid." 

Thorfinn dropped from his branch, and almost immediately regretted it. The edges of his vision swirled; his lip curled with the effort of keeping his knees from buckling. “Then I’ll fucking bathe!” he snarled, trying to keep Askeladd from noticing how his legs trembled.

His vision cleared just in time to see a hand coming right for his face. He flinched back. Curling inward, his instinctive thought was to protect his stomach, which had tightened strangely. 

Askeladd crooked a finger. “Come here.” 

It wasn’t a request. No, he was ordering Thorfinn around like he was some kind of fucking _dog_. And right now he was weak and alone. Getting within arm’s reach of his father’s killer was about the last thing he wanted to do. 

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t, I’m definitely not going to let you join the raid.”

_He didn’t even want to be part of the fucking raid!_

But he couldn’t tell Askeladd that. Even if Askeladd suspected it, Thorfinn would have rather chopped off a finger than let him know exactly how shitty he felt right now. 

Scooting forward, he came close enough to feel the heat from Askeladd’s outstretched hand, but stopped short. He wasn’t a kept pet. 

At this proximity, Askeladd was all he could smell. Thorfinn wrinkled his nose, trying to block some of the scent, but it was impossible; it wormed its way into his brain, raising a rash of gooseflesh on his arms.

Askeladd touched his forehead. Cursory contact, startlingly gentle. 

“No raid. You’re about to go into heat.” Askeladd took his hand back. “You’ll be more of a distraction than a help out there.” 

At the sound of the word _heat_ his heart dropped. “I’m _what?”_ He didn’t know exactly what it meant, only that it was attached to omegas, and anything that was _couldn’t_ be referring to him.

“Heat. You’re going into heat.” Askeladd stared at him, like he thought Thorfinn was slow. “You know, sex? Alphas have ruts that compel them to mate. Omegas have heats that do the same thing.”

Those words made no fucking sense. None at all. Sex? Even though he knew that alphas and omegas went together like a mortar and pestle, he'd never thought about it so… so _viscerally._

“But – I don’t want to have sex!” He blurted out the first thought that came to mind, too alarmed to even refute Askeladd's assumptions.

“Well, you’re going to have to," Askeladd rolled right over his protests, voice clipped. “It’ll kill you if you don’t. And, you need an alpha to do it.”

Sex? _Heats?_ No. It couldn’t be. It _couldn’t_ be. Thorfinn backed away from Askeladd, wobbling on legs that felt like jelly. 

“No… _no_ … I don’t want...” He clutched at his head, willing the dizziness to stop. It just wasn’t possible. He was sick, that was all. As soon as he was able to rest he’d feel better, and everything would go back to normal!

“We’ll be attacking at full sundown. Meet the others at the caravan as soon as I’ve ordered the charge.” 

Askeladd’s voice floated to him from far away. Thorfinn hardly noticed. His insides had turned to stone, weighing him to the spot. 

_No._ No, if it was a heat he would have known it, wouldn’t he? A compulsion to mate shouldn’t feel like the worst bout of food poisoning he’d ever experienced! And besides, it wasn’t possible. It just _wasn’t_.

Askeladd was gone. 

Alone was good. Alone was _safe_. But he didn't feel better, not in the slightest. His heart was beating far too quickly. He hadn’t moved at all, yet it was racing like he'd sprinted uphill. Open-mouthed, he slid into a half-crouched position, hands on his knees and panting 

_A heat_. _Sex_. 

He couldn’t get enough air. His stomach roiled. 

He was going to be sick. 

Bending forward, he retched. Nothing came up. Again and again he heaved, earning nothing but watery saliva and the bitter taste of bile. When at last the nausea ebbed, he spat, wiping his lips with a shaking hand. 

_Omegas have heated_. 

_Stop thinking about it!_ He slammed a fist into his thigh, focusing on the sharp throb of pain. Calm. He needed to calm down, or he was going to pass out. 

_Breathe_. Long, slow breaths pulled in through his mouth and blown out through his nose. A technique his father had taught him the first time he’d taken Thorfinn to slaughter a sheep. He’d panicked then, horrified at the sight of blood - _dark red, almost black, how had there been so much of it_ \- gushing onto the dirt, by the sheep’s weak thrashing, by the hot, metallic smell in the barn. The tears had come, so hard and fast that he’d choked on his own snot and began to hyperventilate.

_Listen to me, Thorfinn. I want you to breathe. Open your mouth. Now breathe in- no, a little slower- and then let it out through your nose. Good. Now do it again. Again._

He’d gotten ahold of himself then. Now he remembered the cadence of his father's words, the low and reassuring timbre of his voice. 

He breathed. 

His heart slowed. Slumping back against the tree, he trembled in the aftershocks of his panic, leaning back until his head thumped against the bark. _Odin damn it_. This was just too much. He couldn’t handle it right now, and didn’t have time to – the sun filtering through the trees was the red-gold, deepening to a bruised purple. It was almost sunset. He had to do his duty. 

Swishing a mouthful of water, he spat out the last of the bitterness and began to shuffle towards the hilltop. 

He barely caught a glimpse of the black, bristling mass of men before Askeladd waved a hand, and they charged. _Shit_. He was late, and would probably hear about it – but to his surprise, when he made it to the caravan, it was to see Bjorn and Stein. _Only_ Bjorn and Stein. That was odd; normally Askeladd stayed behind too. 

Well, whatever. 

As the thunder of footsteps faded, he threw his arms over the edge of the cart and pillowed his head on them, on the pretense of being bored. Stein ignored him completely, but Bjorn gave him a speculative look. 

_He knew._

Of course he knew. Bjorn might look like a dumb brute, but there was a reason he was Askeladd’s right hand man. 

As the screams began, Bjorn came up beside him. He crossed his arms, mirroring Thorfinn’s posture in a manner that was too stilted to pass as nonchalant.

“Hey, Thorfinn. How you holding up?” His voice was pitched low, nearly a whisper; too quiet for the Ear to hear. 

Thorfinn shot him a look. Of all the mercenaries, he hated Bjorn the least. Pretty ironic, considering Bjorn had played a pivotal role in the murder of his father – but aside from that one egregious act, he’d been relatively benign. Keeping to himself. Never teasing him like the other mercenaries. Occasionally even acting friendly, like he was right now. 

It was bizarre.

Bjorn was watching him. Even though Thorfinn could only see the faintest glimmer of his eyes from beneath his spangenhelm, he was clearly expecting a reply. Thorfinn shrugged, grunting.

More shouts from below. There was the brittle sound of wood splintering. 

“Why don’t you hop in the wagon and watch over the treasure? Stein and I will watch the road, the Ear’s on perimeter duty.” The suggestion was casual, but Thorfinn bristled like Bjorn had raised an axe to him.

“ _I don’t-”_ he started, before the sudden twitch of Stein’s head toward him made him realize he’d almost shouted the words. “I don’t want to watch the treasure!” he hissed, annoyed.

Bjorn was quiet, drumming his fingers on the wagon. “Well, someone has to. I’ve been doing it all day, it would be nice to have a break,” he said, after a pause.

Thorfinn snorted. He knew _exactly_ what Bjorn was doing. This was even worse than Askeladd; a blatant attempt to baby him in front of the other warriors. Or, warrior. 

He glanced toward Stein, who was picking his teeth with his knife, bored. Guarding treasure in rural lands like this was something of a joke; he could count the number of times they’d run into bandits on one finger, because it had happened once. Four years ago. And it hadn’t been a bandit, it had been a wandering drunkard who wouldn’t leave them alone.

“Fine,” he grumbled, boosting himself shakily over the lip of the cart. “Whatever.” 

He sat heavily on the cart’s floor, wedging himself in one corner. At the motion, the horses flicked their ears back towards him, awaiting a command. One stomped a hoof. Thorfinn crossed his arms, sinking back until his head settled on the cart’s lip. Bjorn nodded, and slipped away.

This was a bad idea. He really shouldn’t be sitting at all; everything was aching, heavy, even his eyelids. It had been days since he’d had proper rest. 

More screams filtered up from the village, drowned out by the war cries of the mercenaries. The horses' tails swished, swatting at flies. His head nodded like a heavy flower.

Even though he was freezing, his place in the cart was comfortable, the sky dark. The pain was evaporating – or was he retreating from it? He didn’t know. It didn’t matter, really. Nothing mattered but this quiet cocoon, the only place where the pain couldn’t touch him.

Shaking. There was shaking all around him. A low, rumbling vibration that reminded him of a ship running aground. One particularly hard quake jolted him, knocking his head painfully on the wood. His eyes snapped open.

There was Bjorn, back to him, perched on the wagon’s seat, reins in hand. They were moving, trundling down the hill towards the now-silent village, at the center of which blazed an enormous fire. They were already burning the bodies. He had fallen asleep!

Thorfinn’s heart thumped. They were uncomfortably close, coming up on the most peripheral homesteads. He needed to get away before anyone could spot him. 

A quick look behind showed only emptiness. Stein must have gone ahead. Moving silently, he lifted himself to the edge of the cart and jumped – only for his knees to buckle when he hit the ground. He flopped gracelessly onto his stomach. 

If it had been dirt, Bjorn might have heard him; as it was, the long grass cushioned his impact, but the pain still left him breathless. The seconds ticked by as he struggled to find the strength to stand.

The long shadow of the wagon rolled away. In the glare cast by the fire he was exposed, and the fear of discovery was the only thing that got him to his feet. Limping, he headed first towards the road, then diverted, swinging to the southeast where the trees looked denser. He needed to hide.

It was strange. He’d always preferred to avoid the other mercenaries, but the preference had never been this strong. Never this visceral; it was an urge, not a thought, bone-deep and undeniable. He _couldn’t_ ignore it. It had been okay being with Bjorn and Stein, but the thought of going into the village, being surrounded by all those _alphas_ -

_Oh._

He jerked in surprise, and almost stumbled. _That was right_. Bjorn and Stein were both betas. How had he forgotten? 

Askeladd hadn’t forgotten. 

With a bitter huff, Thorfinn continued on. Of course. Askeladd’s scheming, even if it was for his benefit, pissed him off. He could handle this!

Couldn’t he?

By the time he found somewhere safe, he was drenched in sweat, shivering, light-headed. With the last of his strength he pulled himself up into a tree and collapsed, strung awkwardly between the boughs. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the cart had been, but his body didn’t care; he fell into sleep as black and dreamless as dark water. 

All through that night, the final change began.


	4. Omega

Thorfinn awoke to an explosive rustle of bushes. He started, aching and confused, nearly toppling right out of the tree in his haste to orient himself. His nose registered the presence even before his eyes did; Agnarr was near, crashing through the foliage like a wild boar. 

And he wasn’t the only one.

He could smell them now – _lots_ of people were near, he’d just missed them at first due to the strength of Agnarr’s scent. They were- they were-

_looking for him._

Sleep-addled, his only muddled thought was to hide. But where? He was stuck! It had to be here. Shrinking down, he huddled close to the tree’s trunk, tucked between the twisting branches. From this spot the leaves obscured his view; something he hoped rang true for any lookers as well. He was inexplicably frightened.

_Why?_

The movements had gotten much closer. So loud that Agnarr must be at the base of the tree. And just as he’d had the thought, the rustling stopped. 

Nothing.

Then -

Slow indrawn breaths. The whisper of someone moving cautiously through the grass. Agnarr was circling the base of the tree, huffing like an animal. Thorfinn sat frozen, hardly daring to breathe. For a long minute Agnarr paced, continuing his monstrous inhalations before he paused again, muttered something under his breath, then moved on.

As his footsteps faded, Thorfinn dared not relax. There were still more of them, at least six that he could smell, and he was certain that Agnarr wouldn’t be the only one lured here. And he hadn’t the strength to make an escape.

 _Fuck!_

As it turned out, his hunch was damnably correct. Within five minutes of Agnarr’s departure, another took his place. Then another. Then _another._ Thorfinn cowered in his tree, hand frozen around the handle of his dagger. If even one of the idiots thought to climb up, he would cut their fucking fingers off.

Why was this happening? 

Askeladd's voice, low and serious. _You’ll be more of a distraction than a help out there._

_Heat. You’re going into heat._

The words he’d tried so hard to forget echoed back, clanging in his head like bells. 

_Alphas have ruts that compel them to mate. Omegas have heats that do the same thing_. 

He remembered the way Skarde’s scent had changed, how interested everyone had been in him ever since he’d presented. But they’d gone back to ignoring him! What was with this sudden, horrible spike? They were _after_ him. 

His stomach flipped. The corners of his vision wavered like the wings of a butterfly, folding in and out. Thorfinn panted breaths as silently as he could, that cheesy, animal scent clinging thickly to his tongue. It was so heavy. So _aggressive_. So-

- _alpha?-_

dangerous. They wanted him so badly. 

_Omegas have heated_.

He shuddered. 

Another alpha was circling the tree, Baldr this time. So far he’d been lucky, but who knew how long that would hold. What would happen if they caught him?

Another shiver wracked him, shaking him hard enough that he moved a branch minutely. Baldr froze. So did he. After a few, heart-stopping seconds, Baldr began to move again.

Eventually, he too went away. Thorfinn chanced a sip from his waterskin, hands quivering so badly that he slopped water all down his front. 

They would hurt him. He knew that’s what would happen. They _wanted_ him, he could read it in their scents; cloying, heavy, redolent with hunger. If they caught him, they would fuck him. Another thing that didn’t make sense, but he knew instinctively to be true. 

_Why?_

Again and again the alphas came, and he huddled in his hiding spot, stealing sips from his waterskin when he could. He had thought that they’d give up after a few hours, would break for lunch, or to shit, or _something_ , but the tide seemed never-ending. From time to time he caught snatches of low conversation-

“Any sign?”

“You seen him?”

-and knew the hunt would not end any time soon.

The sun traced steadily across the sky, shifting the dappled patterns of the leaves. He was cold. Then hot. Thirsty. The waterskin had been empty for an hour now, and he knew he’d have to go for more by nightfall. Would they continue to search through the night?

Heavy footfalls and the snap of twigs heralded another arrival. He shrank down.

“Thorfinn, are you here?” A low voice, barely above a whisper.

He knew that voice. The scent too; it had confused him momentarily, with how faint it was. It was-

“Bjorn?”

He answered before he could stop himself, and immediately felt stupid. _Shit_. What if Bjorn wasn’t alone? 

“Oh, good, you’re okay.” Bjorn’s voice was urgent, almost nervous, a tone Thorfinn never heard from him. It piqued his curiosity.

Well, he’d already given himself away…

Thorfinn poked his head out to see Bjorn darting glances around, as if checking the surroundings. He looked back up to Thorfinn. 

“Stay put,” he whispered again, hands cupped around his mouth to funnel the sound. “I’ll go get Askeladd.” 

Before Thorfinn could protest, he was gone.

 _Go get Askeladd?_ Bjorn said that like it was supposed to be reassuring! What a joke. Askeladd was an alpha, just like the rest of them. 

But…

Thorfinn remembered the way the mercenaries parted around Askeladd, like fish skirting a shark. They respected him. Feared him, even. If Askeladd was coming here, that might mean he had an opening to escape.

He lifted his nose, searching the stirring breeze. It was blowing northeast, carrying only the faint remnants of old scent and the forest itself. _Damn it_. He would have to risk it.

Thorfinn tried to estimate how long it would take Bjorn to make it to the village and back. It had taken him nearly half an hour to get here last night, but in good form he could’ve made it in ten minutes or less. That gave him a twenty minute window. 

He counted the time down, listening intently for any other sounds. There were none. His hunch had been correct; the men had scattered like frightened rabbits. 

Lowering himself from the tree, he hit the ground and then promptly fell. Blackness crawled across his vision, and when it cleared he realized he was sprawled on his side, a tree root digging painfully into his ribs. _Well, shit_.

He had to claw the tree bark in order to regain his feet, and knew instantly that further movement was going to be trouble. Every muscle quivered, weak with exhaustion. 

The bushes rustled. 

_Fuck._

He angled himself towards the tree, shadowing the hand that reached for his blade. If it wasn’t Askeladd, he was going to gut whoever it was and then run like hell. 

But it was Askeladd. He pushed through the bushes until he stood a few feet from Thorfinn, looking him up and down appraisingly. “You look like shit." 

Thorfinn snorted. He leaned into the tree, wondering if he could muster enough energy to get past Askeladd and escape. “I’m _fine._ ”

He wasn’t. Not even close.

Askeladd seemed to know. He tilted his head, faint twin lines appearing on his forehead. “Hey, I’ve seen an omega or two in heat before, I know it’s not a pleasant experience.”

 _That was the understatement of the century_. 

“Come sleep in my cabin. You’ll be safer there.” 

His eyes snapped to Askeladd’s. _There it was._ He'd completely fucking missed it before, but when he looked past that heavy-lidded, ironic gaze, he saw it plain as blood on wool: a depthless, simmering hunger. 

_Askeladd was just like them_. 

Askeladd took a step toward him, and Thorfinn bared his teeth, alarmed. “I told you baldy, I don’t need your fucking _charity!_ I’m _fine!_ ” 

It didn’t work. Askeladd took another step closer, heedless of the threat, eyes narrowed and dark. “Listen. You’re deep in heat, boy, and anyone who walks by will be able to smell it.” He jabbed a finger towards the village. “Plenty of _those_ alphas will take what they want from you without asking your feelings in the matter. I am _offering_ you a safe place to ride out your heat.” 

All of that sounded like a thinly-veiled threat: _choose them, or me_. Probably because it was. Thorfinn knew he couldn’t evade everyone forever, but now here was Askeladd, pushing and demanding, and there was no way around him- 

“I’ll give you my word: I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.” 

And then… Askeladd extended a hand.

He stared at it, mistrustful. Askeladd’s word? When had that ever amounted to anything but pure shit? He _lied_. Askeladd would say whatever would get him what he wanted! And he _wanted_ Thorfinn to think he was a damned omega!

Askeladd’s hand hung in the air between them, waiting. His stance was loose, at ease, not a hint that he might reach for his sword or Thorfinn – but that didn’t mean anything. Right now a strong wind would be strong enough to knock him over. If he took that hand, who was to say that Askeladd wouldn’t just spin him into an arm lock right then and there?

And still, the hand hung. 

He couldn’t stop staring at it. There was something almost morbidly fascinating about the gesture; Askeladd had never once offered to shake. Not that he’d have done it anyway. But here it was, a gesture of fairness when he was at his most vulnerable. And Askeladd _hadn’t_ just grabbed him. Not yet…

Thorfinn reached out. 

He didn’t thread his palm against Askeladd’s, as was custom, but slid his fingers along the back of his knuckles down towards his wrist, taking hold. The skin there was warm. A pulse beat strongly beneath his fingers.

Curious blue eyes watched him. Thorfinn couldn’t explain the feeling that rose in him then, but it was strong, every bit as undeniable as the danger he’d felt all day. It _compelled._

He brought Askeladd's wrist to his nose, settling where the scent was strongest, and inhaled. 

The world dissolved in a cloud of red.

A month ago if anyone had told Thorfinn he'd be able to take the measure of a man through scent alone, he'd have laughed at them. _Bullshit._ Scent was only good for telling who'd skipped out on bathing, or which bastard had stolen your supper. You couldn't _read_ someone with it. 

But, here it was: Askeladd's lineage, his history, his emotions, spread out like a banquet before him.

If he'd been more clear-headed, Thorfinn would have used this opportunity to gather intel, but he was too far gone. He had only the vaguest impression of everything; a vast flood of information that rushed through his subconscious like a subterranean river.

He could smell Askeladd's impatience. His irritation. His _lust_. And perhaps that should have frightened him – but he could also smell his conviction. 

Askeladd wasn't lying.

Thorfinn could trust him, at least with this. And trust meant safety. Shelter. A thought that appealed very much to some deep part of him. 

That part was what had induced him to reach out in the first place, but it wasn't what had Thorfinn dragging that wrist down towards his neck now. It was blind instinct that enticed him to it. Instinct, and the strange urge to brand that scent into his own flesh. 

He rubbed first his cheek, then the tender hollow of his neck against that fragrant point, feeling some of the bruised ache there vanishing, as if by magic. The same thing happened when he switched to the other side. Somehow contact was helping.

 _Relief_. Something he hadn't felt for many days now, and he lunged after it. He swiped Askeladd's wrist back and forth, losing himself in the motion.

"Thorfinn…"

The sound of his name. He registered it, but dimly; it was as though he'd sunk deep into dark water, watching as a finger dragged ripples through the far-of surface. Unimportant.

More important was the warmth spreading through him, easing the terrible throbbing in his bones. _More._ The longer it went the better he felt; the pain dissolving until only that tension remained, and even that was changing, tightening, _brightening_ , becoming hot, almost like pleasure-

"Hey! Idiot!" Something whacked him upside the head. "Save that for when you're inside, alright?"

The sting shattered his fugue. He was yanked rudely back to himself, realizing for the first time that he was clutching Askeladd's arm like a lifeline, was in fact _purring_ as he nuzzled against it, like he was some kind of fucking housecat.

As soon as he'd realized it, the sound died. He snatched his hands back, glaring up at Askeladd who was watching him with sharp intent. "Bastard, what did you do to me?!"

His eyes flicked away. Askeladd pushed himself to his feet with a sigh of " _Odin help me,"_ and departed, completely ignoring Thorfinn's question.

Just outside of the tree's shade, he stopped. "If you're not in the house in thirty minutes, I'm sending Bjorn to carry you there," he called back, pointing a threatening finger.

Thorfinn growled. He wasn't a _child_ , he didn't need fucking Askeladd or Bjorn or anyone else to hold his hand or coddle him-

But Askeladd was already gone. 

Left alone, Thorfinn was painfully aware of just how exposed he was. How weak. Askeladd had been here and that had kept him safe, but now he was leaving, and Thorfinn had no strength to climb a tree. This was it. 

_Irritation and lust, a scent as heady as smoked meat-_

Thorfinn shivered. His reaction to Askeladd’s scent had been far different to that of the other alphas. There had been no fear. But still…

It made him uncomfortable, how quickly he had lost himself. How easily just Askeladd’s _scent_ had overwhelmed him. What happened when he was trapped inside? When he had nowhere to run? What if Askeladd just threw him down on the bed and-

_Stop fucking thinking about it!_

He was shuddering again, cold tearing through him like a knife. Despite that, heat bloomed in his gut, a strange juxtaposition that had him squirming in confused discomfort.

Something dripped down his leg.

Oh fucking hell. Had he shit himself? That was the last thing he needed right now on top of all this! 

Shame burning in his gut, Thorfinn loosened his pants and lowered them gingerly to the ground. With some trepidation he pulled his trousers down, fully expecting to see something horrible-

-but there was nothing. Just a small patch of darkened fabric, like a water stain. But it still felt wet back there.

Gingerly he reached back, probing with a finger. When he contacted liquid, he drew his hand back and looked. 

Clear fluid glistened at his fingertip. _No shit, then._ He brought his hand up, sniffing. It smelled like nothing at all; he was just leaking water like the unsealed hull of a boat. Well, he hadn't had any food for days now..

He rubbed his fingers together, surprised at how slippery they were. Not water. But then, what _was_ it?

Curious, he reached back once more. Wincing at the insanity of what he was about to do, he pressed his finger to his asshole, then stopped, not quite brave enough to breach it. 

He wasn't in the habit of touching himself here, but he thought it felt _odd._ Aside from being wet, it was soft. Yielding to even his gentlest probe. And when he rubbed, that warm feeling began to gather in his gut again, blossoming suddenly and shockingly into a raging erection.

_The fuck-_

He pulled his pants back up and hastily wiped his hand off on the grass. Now wasn't the time. He had to make his way to the village.

Moving was a slow, painful process. He just wanted to curl up, in no small part to both his erection and that heat that sat in his gut like a coal. The warmth there was making everything feel loose and wobbly. 

When he'd inched his way out of the forest it was to see not Bjorn but Askeladd, turning expectantly at the sound of his arrival. At the sight of Thorfinn his eyes narrowed.

"Right, this is going to take too long." Before Thorfinn could even blink he was being lifted, tossed over Askeladd's shoulders like a sack of grain. 

The clips of Askeladd's iron breastplate were tough, digging painfully into Thorfinn's gut. He squirmed and wiggled, galvanized by anger and hurt. "No! Put me down, you fucker!" He couldn't even pull his blades like this! Couldn't do anything but try to kick his legs out of Askeladd's grip.

"Do you _want_ to be dropped on your head?" Askeladd loosened his hold on Thorfinn's legs, but did not let go entirely; Thorfinn slid through his arms, now strung by his ankles like a prize fish. 

_Fucking bastard!_

"I don't fucking care!" He writhed with all his might. "Just put me down or I'll kill you, you bast-"

Askeladd let go of him. With only a split second to react, he managed to tuck his head, landing hard on the bridge of his shoulders before the rest of him flopped down. The pain was worth the freedom though, and he didn't complain, even when Askeladd grabbed his hood and yanked him upright. 

"Look, we both know you're not gonna make it to the village. You're barely on your feet," Askeladd said, his arm hovering near Thorfinn's elbow like he thought Thorfinn was some delicate maiden about to faint.

Thorfinn pushed him away. "Piss off."

The sun was burning low as they approached the village, crowning the tops of the houses with halos of orange fire. The last vestiges of light dazzled his eyes, making them water. Squinting, he didn't notice a dip in the ground until he had tripped right into it.

The earth loomed up at him in a dizzying swoop. He winced, preparing for the hit – but Askeladd caught him, sweeping him up into his arms like he was cradling a baby. Thorfinn growled. _Fucker_. He had to have been waiting for that to happen. If he weren’t so shaky from the surprise he would’ve socked him.

Askeladd swept through the village quickly, crossing straight through to a house on the far side. There was a familiar figure standing next to it – Bjorn. He tipped his head as Askeladd approached. 

_Bjorn was in on this too?_

When Bjorn opened the door, Thorfinn knew he had to be. Askeladd carried him over the threshold, and the room dimmed as Bjorn shut the door behind them with a flat, wooden, _thunk._

Now they were alone.

The house was small, barely more than a single room. A fireplace on one wall, two beds flanking it adjacently. One of these beds was where Askeladd placed him, and he looked around, wrinkling his nose. He could still smell old blood; remnants of the previous inhabitants. "Why didn't you get a bigger house?"

Askeladd slipped his sword belt off, laying it on the ground. "Because the biggest ones were taken by most of the crew."

 _Stupid excuse_. He was the leader, he could have ordered them to give it to him if he had wanted-

Thorfinn froze. He flared his nostrils, sniffing hard. There really wasn't any need to; the scent rolling off Askeladd was filling the tiny room, spearing through his brain like a lance. That smell was darkening, peppering him just like Skarde's scent had days ago, and he knew what that meant. 

He leapt off the bed, backing away until his back hit the far wall. “You fucking liar. You just wanted to get me alone!”

“What? No!” Askeladd denied, but Thorfinn knew he was lying. He could smell the truth boiling in the air between them: Askeladd’s lust, thick and heady. Askeladd held his hands up, palms out. “I already said I wouldn’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

_Liar._

Now that Thorfinn was alone, Askeladd had him right where he wanted him. And he just bet Bjorn was blocking the other side of the door so he couldn’t escape. He was trapped!

“You just wanna stick it in me. Wanna fuckin’... fuckin’ _use_ me,” he ground out, heart pounding in his throat. Could he fight Askeladd off? 

The anxiety twisting through him reached a new peak; his stomach cramped terribly and he hunched over, unable to stand upright. “You’re just like all the others.” 

Askeladd’s eyes narrowed. “Why would I do that? I gain nothing by helping you.” He shrugged, acting aloof. “If you die I’ve got one less annoying brat trying to kill me.”

Thorfinn only glowered. Askeladd could lie all he wanted, Thorfinn knew better. 

“Fine, have it your way,” Askeladd snapped, picking a blanket up off the bed and throwing it towards him. He turned his back on Thorfinn and began to strip out of his armor; Thorfinn kept his hands on his daggers, afraid that any moment Askeladd would whirl on him and attack. 

But he didn’t. He only climbed into bed and turned his back toward Thorfinn. 

Thorfinn watched him for many long minutes. He wouldn’t put it past Askeladd to try and trick him – to feign sleep until he thought Thorfinn’s guard was down. But the form under the blanket remained still but for the steady rise and fall of his breaths, which slowed and deepened. That dark scent faded by degrees. Then a low, rumbling snore broke the silence. 

Askeladd was asleep. 

Sliding down the wall, Thorfinn curled in a ball in the corner, too wobbly to stand anymore. His heart rate crept down. 

_What the hell was he supposed to do now?_

Looking toward the door, he contemplated escape. Every fiber of his being wanted to retreat, to hide – but he’d chosen to come here. He was in the village now, and even if Bjorn _wasn’t_ keeping him inside, he was sick, he was weak, and he was surrounded by men who wanted to fuck him, for whatever reason. If Askeladd was right, then they wouldn’t hesitate to set on him the instant he was out. 

_Gods dammit!_

He watched the gentle motion of Askeladd’s breaths. Was the devil he knew better than the ones waiting outside?

In the end, he decided it was. Askeladd already owed him his life; anything he did in here would be extracted from his hide the next time they dueled. 

Thorfinn wedged himself in the corner, pulling the blanket over him. Even fully clothed he was shivering; the chills were coming in faster and faster waves now. This blanket wasn’t enough. He eyed the furs on the empty bed longingly; they would be so warm. 

Getting to his feet proved impossible. His legs would not obey. So he crawled, slowly and painstakingly, taking care to remain silent. If he woke Askeladd now… well. He tried to ignore the thought. 

It took the better part of five minutes to get there, and ten minutes of him inching the furs over the hay in a dry rustle – but in the end, he had a pile of bedding thick and warm enough to quiet the worst of the shakes. 

He was so tired. 

Eyelids drooping, Thorfinn swaddled himself in layers of fur, angling his body towards Askeladd’s bed. If Askeladd moved, he wanted to know. 

He closed his eyes.

* * *

Sleep was a fucking cruel bitch. 

It felt like he’d hardly dropped off before he was awake again. He just couldn’t get comfortable. First he was cold, then hot, then the ache in his belly would cramp hard enough to make him wince, and it would start all over again. 

And, something new was brewing. The strangest internal awareness of empty and terrible gnawing. It was like… _hunger_. Except instead of his stomach, the feeling was much lower.

He tossed and turned to no avail. It was like he’d been bitten by insects, but the itch was inside. Untouchable. In the end the only thing he could do was pile himself in furs, shivering, aching, and miserable. By the time morning came, he could have happily killed for a single hour’s rest.

The rustle of hay caught his attention. Askeladd was shifting restlessly on the bed, and Thorfinn waited, watching to see if he would wake – but he did not. Just turned onto his stomach, muttering.

That spicy scent was back. It had disappeared while Askeladd slept, but steadily it was growing. Thorfinn’s nose prickled with it; he shuddered as it went right through him, making his insides writhe like snakes. 

The smell intensified as light began to spill into the cabin, and now there was the quiet swish of hay against hay. Askeladd was moving again; small, rhythmic motions under the blanket. His breathing was getting louder. 

Thorfinn’s pants felt very damp. 

And suddenly, Askeladd stilled. He heaved in a deep breath then rolled onto his back, letting it out in a long, low hiss. He was awake.

Thorfinn watched Askeladd intently as he sat up, rubbing his eyes, then glanced across the way to the other bed before turning to where Thorfinn sat, stiff and alert.

“What?” he barked, ready for a stupid remark, but Askeladd only rolled his eyes. He stood up, arching his back in a stretch, grunting as his joints popped.

 _Whoa_. 

The front of Askeladd’s pants was deformed, pulled in a taut tent. _Whoa._ Askeladd was aroused. That was… that was Askeladd's dick, one thin layer away from him.

He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from it.

It seemed huge. Granted, he’d only ever seen himself and Ulrik erect, that was hardly representative of normal. But still...

Askeladd turned away, and the spell was broken. He bent, picking up his sword belt and sliding it securely around his waist. When he came toward Thorfinn, Thorfinn tensed, gripping the handle of his dagger with a growl. _This was it_. Now Askeladd would do it, would force him- 

Askeladd pulled open the door, poking his head outside.

There was a low murmur of conversation. Askeladd, talking to Bjorn? Was he going to enlist Bjorn’s help?

He pulled his blade halfway out of its sheath, ready to react if Askeladd suddenly came his way. But the next second Askeladd left, slamming the door shut behind him. Thorfinn was completely alone.

Blinking in confusion, he waited, but didn't hear any more conversation. It seemed as though Askeladd had just abandoned him. 

Really?

 _...Whatever_.

Closing his eyes again, Thorfinn settled against the wall. With Askeladd gone the smell in the room was dissipating, and the terrible crawling in his guts began to ease. A dark fog was creeping over his mind. Maybe now he could sleep…

"Ivar." 

Bjorn spoke from right outside the door. His voice was quiet, but wary; a tone that had Thorfinn instantly on alert. 

He looked. There wasn't much to see. From beneath the door light spilled, broken by two dark columns of shadow. Bjorn, standing directly in front of it.

"Stand aside, Bjorn! We know the boy is in there." 

That voice was unmistakably Ivar’s, but Thorfinn could hear others too; low murmurs of agreement from what had to be at least three more people. 

“That’s not happening.” 

Never had he been so glad that Bjorn was there. Askeladd had been right, as soon as he disappeared it was like a dinner bell had been rung. _They had come for him._

A low, threatening growl. One of them, trying to intimidate Bjorn. “This is your last chance. We don’t want to have to hurt you!”

Thorfinn’s hands were clammy, slipping on the handles of his daggers. Bjorn was strong; if he ate one of his berserker mushrooms he could probably take as many as eight of them, if they were stupid enough to attack one at a time. But if they didn’t, if they swarmed him, one or two might get past – and here he was, not even able to stand. He’d have to get lucky. Hide his blade under the furs, and attack when they got close. He could probably kill one of them before-

“Hey! You lot!” Askeladd’s voice cracked through the rising growling like a whip. “Get away from Bjorn and go back to your duties.” 

His tone was light, but the steel of authority was unquestionable; even Thorfinn found himself sitting up a little straighter. He had never noticed that before. Was that an alpha thing? 

The growling stopped, becoming low grumbling that faded as the men outside dispersed. 

Footsteps, then a put-upon sigh. “Can’t even take a piss without them slobbering like a pack of mongrels. Thanks, Bjorn.” 

Bjorn grunted, sounding troubled. “You probably shouldn’t leave here again. I can’t guarantee there won’t be blood next time.”

 _Damn straight he shouldn’t_. What was the point of bringing Thorfinn here if Askeladd was just going to fuck off whenever he wanted to? He would’ve been safer in the woods! 

"Alright, alright. If I'm not out by tomorrow morning, let the men know we're going to spend another two days here.”

Thorfinn’s eyes bulged. _Two days trapped in here with Askeladd?_

“And Bjorn – unless the village is under attack, _no disturbances_."

The grave chill of his voice kicked Thorfinn’s heart back into a gallop. As soon as the door creaked open his grip on his sword tightened. Askeladd had said he wouldn’t do anything that Thorfinn didn’t want – but Askeladd had lied to him before. About the reason Thorfinn had been brought here. About facing Thors in a fair duel. 

What had he been thinking, actually _believing_ him?

 _Red scent filling his nose, as raw and sweet as tavern mead._

Askeladd came back inside and slammed the door behind him. He glanced at Thorfinn, who tensed and bared his teeth. With a snort, Askeladd stripped off his sword and then threw himself down in the bed, tucking his arms behind his head. 

And there was nothing but silence. 

The rest of the day passed in misery. Thorfinn’s insides were throbbing again, everything twisting in restless discomfort as he breathed in the thick scent rolling off of Askeladd. _Fuck_. Why the hell hadn’t he picked a house with at least two windows? 

As the hours passed, he found it increasingly hard to maintain thought of any kind. Everything had turned inward, focused on the pulsing that was intensifying with every minute. It was _changing_. Still itching him something fierce, but now it felt like – it felt like something he had no name for. It was like he was empty, and needed… 

He shook his head, burying his face in his arms. Askeladd was snoring, which meant he was safe for the moment. 

He needed… what?

Whatever it was, it was now affecting him an entirely different way. His cock twitched to life, thickening along his leg. This desire he was more familiar with, but it was no easier to satisfy. Askeladd might be asleep, but any second he could wake up. What if he found Thorfinn with his pants down and decided that was as good as an invitation? 

Gritting his teeth, he curled inward more tightly. He would make it through this. He _would_.

Thirty minutes later, he was shaking. 

The need was like a live thing twisting through his veins, burning so intensely that it was actually painful. His balls throbbed. Fuck, he couldn’t stand this anymore!

Askeladd was miraculously still snoring, but Thorfinn was far beyond caring. If he didn’t do something, he would go insane. 

Hurriedly, he toed his boots off and rucked his pants down around his ankles. After a moment’s consideration, his shirt went as well; he was actually hot now, the feverish chills vanishing like dust in the wind. 

Taking himself in hand, he strangled the moan that rose in his throat. _Fuck_. It felt like he hadn’t touched himself in ages; every motion so intense that he could actually taste the pleasure curling like metal shavings on the back of his tongue.

He worked himself faster, wanting to get it over with. This was all he needed. As soon as he came, that awful tension would be gone, and he would feel better. 

But, five minutes later, he was nearly whining with frustration. Though the pleasure mounted, it never seemed to reach that final peak. No matter how fast or hard he stroked, whether he licked his palm or went dry, he _couldn’t fucking come._

He hissed out a breath. Now that he’d wound himself up it was infinitely worse; if he didn’t do something soon he would have to wake Askeladd up, and the thought of the smug look on that wicked face was enough to make acid burn in his chest. _No_. He _wasn’t_ going to beg for it! 

Another cramp. Thorfinn bent forward, shaking until it released. He couldn’t decide what was worse; his aching balls, the pain of his cramps, or that strange feeling of emptiness that lingered between each wave. What was the _point_ of it all?

_You’re going into heat. You know, sex?_

Yes, he knew about fucking _sex!_

_Alphas have ruts that compel them to mate. Omegas have heats that do the same thing._

He shook his head, trying to get Askeladd’s voice out of his head. _No!_ It wasn’t true!

 _Stop being an idiot._ A voice like chips of ice slid into his mind, sharp and cold. _You know the truth_. 

His cock throbbed in his palm, painfully unsatisfied. That wet, trickling feeling was back, unfurling warmth in his belly like a sun-hot rock. It felt like… like he wanted something _inside_.

 _The sooner you accept it, the happier you’ll be._

Fuck Askeladd. Bastard thought he knew everything. But he didn’t. He was wrong, it was just sickness-

 _What kind of sickness makes you hard? What kind of sickness makes you this weak? Makes you sensitive to alphas?_ _Makes you want to be_ filled?

Thorfinn wanted to rip his own brain out, spill the traitorous, poisonous thoughts out onto the dirt and stamp on them. _Shut up!_ Just because he couldn’t come up with an explanation for everything didn’t mean he was wrong – he wasn’t a fucking _healer-_

_The sooner you accept it-_

Growling in frustration, Thorfinn thumped his head against the wall and then instantly regretted it. Dizziness rolled through him, like his brain was swimming in his skull. There was a sudden silence from the bed, and he froze, listening. After a long moment, the snores continued.

 _Ugh. Whatever._ Pretend for one moment that he _was_ an omega, and that he was in heat. If he believed Askeladd, then he would die if he didn’t do anything – the absolute worst case scenario. 

That couldn’t happen. 

He closed his eyes. _Think._ He had to put himself in the mindset of an omega.

So… if he was an omega, he was supposed to have sex to fix this. Sex with an alpha. And the only alpha nearby was…

Askeladd snored again, and Thorfinn winced. _Fuck_ . He had to have sex with a man. _What the fuck, seriously?_ If he had known that before he would’ve tried to fight for an alpha female at the last village! This all could’ve been avoided-

He cut the thought off. It was straying into dangerous territory. And it wouldn’t do any good to think about what could’ve been; now, there was only one option. Which lead to the next, most obvious question: _How did two men have sex?_

But he thought he knew the answer to that too; had since the first moment his ass had begun to leak. Women had different parts down below, another hole to fit the appropriate bits together. He didn’t. There was only one place for a cock to go. And if he was supposed to be fucked, then maybe… 

He kicked his feet free of his pants and leaned back on the furs, glancing towards the bed as he spread his legs. Askeladd was still sleeping; he just had to keep an ear out for the moment the snores stopped. 

Face hot, he reached below, then paused before his finger contacted flesh. Odin help him, he wasn’t actually going to _do_ this, was he? Stick his finger up his ass? 

_There’ll be something a lot bigger there soon._

Thorfinn flushed, clenching at the thought. The voice in his head sounded like Askeladd at his most insufferable, the fucking know-it-all bastard. 

Something began to drip down his crack. 

He dabbed a finger tentatively between his legs, still paranoid that he was somehow shitting himself – but no. It was just that clear fluid again. He rubbed his fingers together, marveling at how thin and slick it was. Obviously he was making it to-

He wrinkled his nose, and pushed the thought aside. If he was going to do this, it was time to just _do_ the fucking thing before his dick exploded. 

The first touch of his finger was light, but he could feel the ring of muscle quivering beneath it. Despite the tension, it yielded easily to his touch; the tip of his finger sinking in easily. _Soft._ He was warm and slippery here, almost mushy. 

Curious, he pushed his finger deeper, feeling around. More of that velvet warmth. It didn’t hurt, but the pressure against his ring was odd. He pushed harder and his finger slid all the way inside, smooth as butter.

…

_Was that it?_

He had hoped that putting something inside would dispel some of that empty feeling, but it was still there. Did that mean he needed more? 

The second finger was more difficult. Despite how slick he was the stretch was much greater, and he began to pump his cock to distract himself from the sensation. Yes. _This_ touch was nice. A firm up and down, a gentle twist of the wrist, and-

He exhaled sharply. _Oh._ What was _that?_

His body had clenched involuntarily from the pleasure, squeezing down on his fingers in a way that made the fullness _very_ noticeable. And when that had happened- ah, when that had happened, the emptiness had disappeared. 

Biting his lip, he tried to do it deliberately. Stroking up with one hand, pushing in with the other, clenching as he did, and the pleasure in him spiked, not creeping so much as shooting over the plateau.

“ _Fuuuuhh-”_ he breathed out a choked curse.

Oh, if that was _two_ fingers, would _three_ feel even better?

As he began to work another finger inside, a small part of him cringed at his own wantonness. Scarcely five minutes ago he had been disgusted at the very thought, and now here he was, fucking himself eagerly with his own hand. The rumors were true. Omegas _would_ do anything for pleasure.

That voice was quickly drowned in the rising tide of his arousal, his heartbeat roaring in his ears. He was so close. Oh fuck, just a little bit more-

The sharp clack of a strike-a-light startled him. His eyes snapped open. There was movement on the bed; Askeladd had woken up. 

_Fuck!_

Thorfinn’s hands faltered, then picked up speed. He was too fucking close to have this ruined now. Hadn’t he suffered enough already?

_Just let me have this!_

The soft glow of candlelight filled the room, shifting and bobbing as Askeladd held it aloft. The warm light was not kind; it deepened the hollows under Askeladd’s eyes, crept into the lines of his face, sharpening his features into something ghoulish. His eyes glinted, taking in Thorfinn’s every movement.

“Don’t- don’t look at me, bastard,” Thorfinn tried to growl and failed, breath wheezing out of him in a groan. The pleasure was reaching its feverish peak. When he pushed his fingers inside him again he saw Askeladd’s eyes widen. “I _said_ don’t _look!_ ”

Askeladd pinched out the candle, drowning them in darkness. 

There was no sound from the bed, but the sudden swell of Askeladd’s scent hit him, so thick and lush he could actually taste it. He had to be tempting fate, to be naked and helpless in the face of such overwhelming lust. And suddenly he could see it, as clearly as though it were happening:

_Askeladd, leaping up from the bed._

_Askeladd, pulling his legs open._

_Askeladd, filling him in one quick thrust._

With a low cry, he clenched around his fingers and came. 

“ _Shit-_ ” 

From the other side of the room he heard Askeladd curse. A second later, his nose twitched at the mineral smell of semen. _Askeladd had been masturbating to him!_

And he had been masturbating to Askeladd. 

Shame thudded into the pit of his stomach. He pulled his fingers out of himself, scrubbing them on his leg. Semen was cooling on his belly, his chest - he hadn't been able to block it with both hands occupied. He wiped it off with the corner of one of the furs and then buried himself in the pile of bedding.

Now that the fire had burned out, regret sat heavy in his heart. He had pleasured himself to _Askeladd._ He had come to the thought of his father's killer _fucking_ him. 

How fucking disgusting. There really _wasn't_ anything an omega wouldn't do.

Bile rose in his throat, burning and burning. 

_He was an omega._


	5. Inferno

Of all the things Thorfinn was ashamed of in his life - not being able to protect his father, not killing Askeladd that first night, not yet winning a duel - this had to be the most indefensible. He might have been too young to save his father, and too soft-hearted then to kill Askeladd, but there were no excuses for the rest of his failures. 

Only, losing a duel had never made him feel so indescribably dirty. 

He hoped more than anything that Thors was too busy preparing for Ragnarök to look down and see what had become of his son. 

Thorfinn tried to sleep, but it was broken, uneasy. There was no escape from the truth anymore. 

He _was_ an omega.

Guilt and disgust rolled through him, a cold trickling sensation like an egg cracked on the back of his neck. It sickened him. Strung between sleep and his own pained thoughts, he lost all sense of time. He didn’t know how long he had been out before he was awake again, the familiar cramping starting up again. 

_No!_ He didn’t _want_ this!

Unfortunately, his body didn’t give two shits about what he wanted. He tried to resist as long as he could, curled up and gritting his teeth against the pain – but now that he knew the remedy, it felt like his willpower crumbled as easily as sand. 

_Fucking weakling_. 

His hand crept below again, where damp wetness was beginning to ooze. A warrior should be able to withstand this!

His mind, it seemed, was not as strong as his body. 

Again and again the waves of need rose up and swallowed him. No matter how many times he satisfied himself, it always came back; perversely, it seemed to be growing with each hour, while he himself grew weaker. His wrist was starting to ache, cocked too long at an unnatural angle. Even his dick was beginning to chafe.

He drank when he had the thought to. Askeladd kicked a waterskin his way after Bjorn refilled it for them, and he nibbled at the bread that was tossed towards him, but food held no appeal. It sat in his stomach like a lump. The next time Askeladd tried to ply him with it, he pushed it away.

Eventually, he didn’t want to drink either. 

The line between sleeping and waking was beginning to blur. Drained and exhausted, he lay half-faint on the furs, barely aware that he was still touching himself. His mind was adrift. Lost in the haze, he didn’t even realize that Askeladd was standing before him until something prodded his foot.

“Hey, kid. You ready to give up yet?”

Thorfinn blinked up blearily. Askeladd was standing over him, arms crossed, looking supremely bored. 

“Fuck off.” He was getting through this. No need for Askeladd’s help.

But Askeladd wasn’t inclined to leave him alone. “Look, as fun as it is to watch you die, I’ve got a mercenary band to run. So either give in, or I’m going to leave you here. Got it?”

That caught his attention. Anger swept through him, dissipating the fog of exhaustion. “You said...wouldn’t touch me… without permission,” he gasped. Fear and rage were at war within him, strangling him with their ferocity. 

_Askeladd had promised!_

No. No, he shouldn’t be surprised by this betrayal. Askeladd was a liar and a cheat _,_ he already knew that. Had already decided he was full of shit. But Thorfinn couldn’t understand why it had taken him so long to make this threat.

“And I’m not!” Askeladd held up both hands, shrugging, as though confused by Thorfinn’s reaction. “I’m just telling you, I’m not going to wait a week for some brat who wants to kill me to make up his mind. Actually-” his tone changed, brightening with realization. “Why _am_ I waiting? The problem will solve itself. ”

Yes, why _was_ he waiting? Askeladd had left him behind more times than he could count. _This_ situation was the outlier. 

Askeladd began to turn away. “Well, Thorfinn, it’s been an interesting ten years, but I-”

“ _Wait!”_ his traitorous hand reached out before he could stop it, snagging the cuff of Askeladd’s pants. He was panting, torn between outrage and desperation.

_As fun as it is to watch you die_ -

That had been the turning point. As much as it killed him to admit it, he knew Askeladd was right. 

He _was_ dying. 

“What?” Askeladd looked down at him, disdainful.

This heat was something he couldn’t fight alone. He had tried for hours, and nothing was changing. It was time to swallow his pride; after all, if he died here he’d have neither the satisfaction of defeating Askeladd, nor the reward of seeing his father in Valhalla. This was it.

“I’ll… I’ll do it.” 

For a moment, Askeladd said nothing. He looked down his nose at Thorfinn, as though coming to a decision of his own, then knelt. “Alright then.”

Arms snaked around Thorfinn’s back and under his legs. Askeladd, trying to pick him up again. He shoved Askeladd’s hands away. “No. I can walk!” It was bad enough that he had to be fucked by the man, he wasn’t going to be manhandled through the whole process!

Askeladd didn’t argue for once. He retreated, sitting back on the bed. As Thorfinn struggled to his hands and knees, he realized with another pang of shame that no, he still couldn't walk – but he’d be damned if he accepted any help.

“Well?” Askeladd snapped, waspish with irritation. “Come on!”

He bit back a snarl, burning with hate. The anger gave him strength enough to crawl his way to the bed, but as soon as he’d gotten close Askeladd swooped in.

“Here, let me help.” 

He lifted Thorfinn under the arms like he was picking up a toddler, and Thorfinn bristled, baring his teeth. Askeladd’s hands were off him in an instant, but not before he had set Thorfinn on the edge of the bed.

“I _said-_ ” he started, but Askeladd cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah, I know you said you don’t need help, but _I_ need help!” Askeladd was sliding out of his underwear, kicking them onto the pile of his clothes. “It’s been days, I’m feeling pretty tense.” 

He turned towards Thorfinn, naked but for his socks. And Thorfinn…

… couldn’t look away.

The reality of what he was about to do could not be ignored now. Askeladd’s cock bobbed at the level of his eyes, thick and red and undeniable. It drew him like gravity, the sight and then the smell; he breathed, rolling the musky, wild spice of Askeladd’s arousal across his tongue.

Askeladd settled himself on the bed, legs spread, reclining against the headboard. “Well, whenever you’re ready.” 

That snapped him out of his torpor. He had been expecting for this to go differently, that Askeladd would finally just roll him over and take him. _That_ he was prepared for. But it seemed that Askeladd’s sadistic streak extended to the bedroom too; he was going to make Thorfinn do his dirty work. 

_Bastard._

Well, if he was going to do it, Askeladd had to play by _his_ rules. 

“Lay all the way down,” he ordered.

Thorfinn was wholly surprised by how willingly his command was followed. Askeladd shimmied down on the bed, legs spread wide to accommodate him. Good. If he was on top, he would have a little more control. 

“And close your eyes.”

Askeladd did. Thorfinn waved a hand in front of his closed lids; no reaction. _He had really done it._ Surprising as it was, Thorfinn was glad; somehow, he felt a little better knowing Askeladd wasn’t going to be watching him during this next part.

The first press of his hand on Askeladd’s bare skin was startling. It was as though he’d never touched anyone before in his life, all his nerves firing on overdrive. Softness and warmth, overlaying the firm swell of muscle. The lightest tickle of hair as their calves rubbed together. Sharp ridges of bone beneath his palms as he scooted onto Askeladd’s hips. The iron heat of an erection pressed against his buttocks.

He reached back. 

It pulsed against his palm. _Askeladd’s cock. He was touching Askeladd’s cock_. Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, he tried not to think about how large it seemed. How the stretch would feel. It was definitely bigger than all three of his fingers together-

_Stop thinking about it!_

He lifted his hips up, canting them back and sinking down until the tip was flush against his hole. Beneath him he felt Askeladd’s breath freeze, his legs tensing. 

“Don’t move.” 

Gingerly, he sat back. The head sank into him without resistance, breeching him in a smooth slide that was no worse than his fingers had been. But he knew he was in trouble. The rest of it swelled, feeling far too thick. He couldn’t take it in one go – but maybe if he went very carefully...

Thorfinn began to rock his hips. Small motions that stretched, then relaxed. It seemed to be working; he was able to sink lower and lower each time. Even so, he was acutely aware of it – the thickness, the pressure, the heat that throbbed in his gut in the long seconds when he took a break. 

_Askeladd’s heartbeat._ He was feeling Askeladd’s pulse through his _cock._

He didn’t seem to be the only one having trouble. Askeladd’s face was taut, the breath driven from him in a low hiss as Thorfinn sank down even further. He looked pained. 

By the time his ass met Askeladd’s groin, Thorfinn was panting too, heart racing. _So full_. He felt like he might explode if he breathed too deeply. At least it didn't hurt...

"You gonna move?"

It was some small comfort that Askeladd sounded nearly as breathless as he felt, but his pushiness was fucking annoying. _He_ wasn’t having something huge shoved up his ass! Digging his fingernails into Askeladd’s chest, he watched the skin blanch white. “Shut up.” He would take as long as he damn well pleased!

Leaning forward, he lifted himself partway off, breathing through the slide, and then sat back down.

_Fuck!_

His mind went foggy. Oh, it was better, _so_ much better than his fingers had been. The pleasure was sharper. _Deeper_. Flooding in waves from the very center of him, rippling until his muscles felt like water. 

_Ah…_

He ground back and forth, drowning in the sensation. Rocked by it. And it was getting more intense – he realized that he was being bounced up and down, no longer riding but being driven forward by Askeladd’s thrusts. 

_He said he wouldn’t do anything…_

But Thorfinn didn’t care. Not really. There was no room for worry, not when he felt like _this_ -

“Can I touch you?”

“Huh?” Wasn’t Askeladd _already_ touching him?

“I said ‘can I touch you’. Need a little more leverage than _this.”_ Askeladd slammed his hips upward.

The wet smack against Thorfinn’s ass was nothing compared to the burst of sensation that echoed it. His arms caved. He fell, thumping chest-to-chest against Askeladd, who seemed to take his silence as permission. Greedy fingers hooked around his hips, digging into the meat of his buttocks as Askeladd began to fuck him mercilessly.

Oh fuck, oh _fuck_ , _oh_ _fuck-_

Breathless, he buried his face against Askeladd’s shoulder, muffling his moans against skin. His cock was stuck between them, squeezed with each thrust, and the combined sensations were too much, oh fuck, he was going to cum -

The sound ripped from his throat was high and reedy, strangled as the air caught in his chest. His body clamped down on Askeladd as he came, and as he quaked through it he felt Askeladd roll his hips once, twice, three more times before he, too, stiffened. 

Askeladd was twitching inside him, grunting in his ear. His hands tightened, pushing Thorfinn down on his cock. Something huge and hot pressed against him, threatening to split him open, and Thorfinn balked, jerking away.

Gradually the twitching stopped. Askeladd's hands gentled, and Thorfinn sagged against him. He was completely, utterly spent. 

Drifting in a haze of exhaustion, it took him a moment to realize how little he felt. He had done it. _He'd had sex with Askeladd_. Strange. He'd expected the thought to disturb him, but there was nothing. Not even a trickle of shame. Even the sensation of Askeladd slipping from his body disgusted him more than what he had just done. There was only relief.

_Maybe this is what rock bottom feels like._

"Hey, Thorfinn. Move, I need to get up."

Askeladd jostled him, but Thorfinn had never felt less like moving in his life. Even the knowledge that he was sprawled atop his sworn enemy wasn't enough to lift him from his torpor. His fire had been extinguished.

Rolling, Askeladd shifted him off, propping him against the wall. He watched as Askeladd padded to the door, snatched up the waterskin and drank deeply. The skin of Askeladd’s groin glistened.

_Was that from me?_

He couldn't imagine how that was possible, when he felt so parched. It was kind of gross.

Askeladd came back to him, holding the waterskin out in offering. It nearly slipped through his fingers when he took it; still half-full, it was heavier than he had expected. 

He sat up to drink, and as he did there was a warm gush of _something_ from down below. For the moment he didn't care; water was more important. By the time he'd finished, the worst of his lingering headache was beginning to dissolve, and his stomach sloshed. 

As he passed the skin back to Askeladd, he winced as another glob of liquid - _cum, it's Askeladd's cum inside you -_ slithered out. He grabbed a blanket from the floor and leaned back, spreading his legs to rub away the worst of the mess.

"Did you have to do it _in_ me?" he complained. This was another thing he hadn't anticipated; how gross it felt. Leaking his own lubrication was bad enough.

Askeladd sat down heavily next to him. "Well kid, that's kind of the point." 

Thorfinn frowned. _What point?_ Askeladd getting to use him like a human cum rag?

He was getting that look again. Askeladd's eyes were narrowed, one brow cocked in a faint, ironic tilt that implied that he thought Thorfinn was stupid. "Your body needs to be fooled into thinking you're pregnant, that's the only way your heats will end."

His brain heard the word _pregnant_ and latched onto it instantly. _No way._ Pregnant? Like the way women had babies? _Why had no one told him this?_

" _What?_ I can't- no, I don't _want_ to be pregnant!" he yelled, grabbing his stomach like he expected it to swell. _No_. He'd sooner carve out his own heart than bear Askeladd's child! Oh, fuck, he'd have to get the duel moved up-

"No, you idiot! You can't get pregnant!" Askeladd raised his voice, cutting through the rising tide of Thorfinn's fear. "No omega males can."

"...oh."

Relief flooded through him, but it was short lived. A question had asserted itself in his mind, and would not let go. He frowned. "Then what's the point?"

"Huh?"

"I said, _what's the point?_ Why have omega males at all if we're not good for _shit?"_

The thought sank sharp teeth into him, grinding mercilessly. Why the fuck _did_ omega males exist? People wanted omegas because they were good for having babies and because they loved sex – if he couldn't have kids, then he was suffering right now for _nothing?_

Askeladd shrugged, oblivious to his anger. "You're gonna have to take that one up with Odin."

He flopped down on the bed next to Thorfinn, so close that their sides were flush, his feet coming down atop Thorfinn’s. 

"Get off me!" Thorfinn kicked Askeladd's foot away, shoving at his shoulder. Askeladd didn't budge.

One blue eye peered lazily at him. "It's not my fault you're taking up so much room. Maybe you should turn over."

_What the hell?_ They _weren't_ going to sleep in the same bed!

"Fuck off, I don't want to share my bed with you!"

"This is _my_ bed."

"You can go sleep in that one!" Thorfinn pointed at the bed Askeladd had indicated for him earlier. 

Askeladd, the bastard, tucked his hands behind his head, taking up even more space. "No, I want to sleep in this one. If you don't like it, _you_ can move over there." He closed his eyes resolutely.

Thorfinn thumped his elbow against Askeladd's ribs and pushed, but Askeladd ignored him, pretending to be asleep. _Fucker._ He had to know Thorfinn was too weak to force him out. 

The thought of struggling over to the other bed wasn't appealing, and his pride kept him rooted to the spot. _He_ wasn't going to move. But he wasn't going to cuddle up to Askeladd like a tame dog either. 

In the end he scooted until he was tucked against the wall, almost nose-to-nose with the faded wooden boards. He refused to face Askeladd. Or acknowledge the straw scratching his skin – the furs did not cover the entire bed – or the shivers that were starting again.

He was so tired that he didn't even know he had fallen asleep. The gray twilight swallowed him as suddenly and thoroughly as the ocean. He drifted. 

Faint at first, but growing, he felt heat swirling through him. It settled in his belly like a glowing ember, first warm, then hot, growing as if fanned by the wind. Then it was burning. A particularly vicious flame licked at his insides, and Thorfinn woke with a groan of pain.

He was on fire. 

Back when he had been shivering in the tree he had wondered why it was called a heat. Now he knew. The want was like a demon inside him, endlessly hungry, razing everything it touched. 

He was leaking again. 

Askeladd was still asleep, flat on his back. His cock lay thick and hard against his belly, pulsing in time with his heart. Thorfinn clambered atop him, panting. He had his back to Askeladd, not wanting to see the man's face when he woke to find Thorfinn on him. 

Legs shaking, he lowered himself slowly onto Askeladd's cock, that feeling of fullness wringing the breath from him in a sigh. It went in more easily this time. Rocking onto his heels, he began to move.

It didn't go well. Thorfinn was too weak to thrust as hard or fast as he wanted to, too wobbly to hold himself at the right angle to get Askeladd in deep. Whining in frustration he leaned back on his palms, hoping the extra leverage would help – but nothing. 

Below him Askeladd had begun to move restlessly. His hips bumped up, and Thorfinn tried to sink down to meet them. That, too, failed. Askeladd was moving too erratically to get a rhythm going. 

He was just about to smack Askeladd awake when suddenly arms seized him around the waist, pulling him backward. Askeladd surged up, burying himself inside.

_Yes._ He waited, ready to brace himself - but that was it. Askeladd only clutched him, holding them fast together.

"Bastard _, move!_ " he groaned, wiggling and tugging at Askeladd's arms. 

Moist breath puffed against his neck in a low, bleary grunt of confusion. Askeladd's goatee tickled him maddeningly, his cock slipping half-out of Thorfinn with a slick squelch. 

"C'mon, c'mon, _c'mon,"_ Thorfinn urged, arching his hips back to force Askeladd inside again. _How long did it take the man to wake up, damn it?_

Then Askeladd rolled them to the side, threw a leg over him and slammed his hips forward. 

_Yes!_

He braced himself with one arm and took himself in hand with the other, glorifying in the pleasure that swelled beneath his skin like a firestorm. _Oh,_ that was it, he just needed to come and then he'd feel better-

Askeladd twitched, then ground to a halt.

It was like he enjoyed thwarting Thorfinn. "Why did you stop?!" he howled, trying to shove his hips back. 

Askeladd didn't answer. He pulled out completely and Thorfinn whined, only to be yanked half-off the bed. His hips scraped over the lip of the bedframe. Hay poked his tender erection, only to be swiftly cushioned by a wad of bedding as Askeladd dragged the furs over the bed's edge. 

Askeladd wanted to fuck him like this? _Fine, whatever!_ As long as he got what he needed. Leaning forward on his elbows, Thorfinn dug his toes into the dirt, spreading his legs. 

A rough, pleased rumble was the only warning he got before Askeladd thrust back in.

The bed was clattering against the wall, hard enough that the house creaked. Thorfinn could barely hear it over the roar in his own head; the cacophony of his wailing compounding the frayed mess of his thoughts.

He really ought to be ashamed of himself, screaming like a dying rabbit. The briefest thought of Bjorn flashed through his head, his huge, placid form standing solidly on the other side of the door. He had to be able to hear _everything._ Hell, the whole village probably knew by now.

Thorfinn didn't give a fuck. 

His cock was cocooned in the welter of furs, each thrust kindling the fire that was threatening to swallow him whole. He wanted it. Needed it. _Let everything burn down, he was already in hell._

He was building up to an explosive orgasm when suddenly Askeladd fell flat on top of him, crushing Thorfinn against the bed. Air whuffed out of him. The motions against him became frantic – quick, shallow thrusts punctuated by a deep, raspy groan. 

_Bastard._ Askeladd was about to come again, and that wasn't fair, not when Thorfinn hadn't been satisfied yet. That was why Askeladd was here! 

Too breathless to protest, he could only lay there as Askeladd stiffened against him.

He thought that had been it. The instant Askeladd froze he resigned himself to finishing in his hand, and waited for Askeladd to roll off him. 

Instead, Askeladd _pushed._

His hips slid forward. Askeladd was pushing so hard that Thorfinn’s hips scraped painfully against the bed frame, even through the fur cushion. There was something huge and hot pressing against his asshole. 

The thought came to his dazed brain - _the knot, that's the knot -_ a memory of the swelling he'd seen at the base of Ulrik's cock. That thing that only alphas possessed. It felt impossibly large; like someone trying to shove their whole fist right into him. 

Askeladd's hips were grinding and grinding, as though he thought he could force it in if he tried hard enough. Couldn't he tell it wasn't going to fucking _work?_ Thorfinn opened his mouth to say exactly that, when Askeladd snarled savagely and _shoved_. 

_!!!_

His mind froze. The knot popped through, a terrible and shocking stretch that drove the air from him in a shrill howl. Too much, too much, it was _too much-_

But it didn't go away.

Heavy weight pinned him down. Waves of sharp agony as Askeladd spasmed inside of him, straining his tortured rim. More low groans of pleasure in his ear.

It seemed endless. Straw crumbled in his fists as he clawed the bedding, clinging to what was left of his dignity. He wasn’t going to make another sound. He _wasn’t._ Even if he couldn’t fight back, he wasn’t going to concede that. 

Then, it was over.

Askeladd's breath was hot on his cheek, his ribs heaving against Thorfinn's back like a bellows. He was sweaty and immovable, a boulder crushing him to the bed. Thorfinn hadn't enough air to speak.

The world was starting to go gray around the edges when Askeladd shifted. The pressure eased. He sucked breaths greedily, wincing as it intensified the stretch below.

A hand collected his cock and began to pump. 

_He was still hard?_

Pleasure sparked, grotesquely at odds with the discomfort in his ass, but it felt strangely muted. Distant. Like he was floating feet outside of himself, tethered only by that spectral connection. When he came it was nearly a surprise, and the unpleasant clamp of his hole around that huge intrusion rocked him back into his body with the force of a hammer blow.

Completely spent, reality came crashing back. Now he was all too aware of Askeladd’s weight, the sweat sticking them together, even the thudding of Askeladd’s heart. He wasn’t fucking _moving_. It was like he’d shut down now that they’d both come, and was content to use Thorfinn as a human mattress. 

“Get off baldy, you’re squishing me!” he bucked backward, too weak to throw Askeladd off. 

Askeladd pushed himself to his hands with a grunt, and Thorfinn had only a moment to feel relief before Askeladd canted his hips back. The knot tugged sharply at his rim.

Black panic descended on him in a flash.

Thorfinn whined, a piteous, mewling sound he'd never thought himself capable of. He couldn't help it. The terror was a live thing, licking at his insides with venomous intensity. _Askeladd was going to pull it out!_ If going in had been bad, he knew this would be even worse – it would tear him open, _break_ him-

Then Askeladd's hips were pressing firmly to his rear, his hands pulling Thorfinn to him.

"I won't do that again," he said. His voice sounded odd. 

Thorfinn glared at him, but could not meet his eyes. "You'd better not." His whole body felt hot with shame. _What the fuck was that?_ He had whined. Actually _whined_ , like a beaten puppy!

Casting around for a distraction, he saw the waterskin by the door. "I'm fucking thirsty." 

Askeladd looked from him to the door, then back. “Hold tight.”

In a thoroughly humiliating move, he was gathered to Askeladd’s chest like a child and carried towards the door. Askeladd squatted low, a motion that made Thorfinn wince as the knot pulled again, but it brought him close enough to snatch up the waterskin. He drank his fill as Askeladd fixed the bed, then shoved the paltry remainder into Askeladd’s hands.

Settling down on the bed was awkward, uncomfortable to a degree he found nearly intolerable. They were so _close_. Face-to-face, legs tangled, and there was only so far he could arch before his back began to ache. Now long were they going to be stuck like this?

He _really_ didn’t want to talk to Askeladd, but he did want an answer. Steeling himself, he muttered, "How long?" 

"Hmm?" 

_Damn_. He’d hoped Askeladd was clever enough to understand his question without more elaboration. He didn’t want to say it aloud. ‘ _How long is your dick going to be stuck inside me’_ was just too raw. He tried again.

"How long does it last?" 

A long, thoughtful pause. He thought he was going to have to actually say it, when Askeladd said, "It depends. I've been tied up for as long as half an hour before."

Half an hour of this. He’d waited ten years for his revenge, surely he could withstand it. Thorfinn closed his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. "Whatever. M'goin to sleep." 

As tired as he was, he probably could’ve – but shame squirmed through him like an eel, putrid and clammy. His heart was hammering, every muscle vibrating with the urge to _move_. It was the hardest thing in the world to quiet it, to force his breaths to slow and deepen. He nearly ruined it by jumping when he felt Askeladd’s arm come down over him, heavy and warm.

Never in his life had he felt more helpless. 

_Is this what prey feels like?_

Tied below, pinned above, as efficient as a snare looped around his throat. Frozen, all he could think of was rabbits. The way they jittered and kicked at the end of the lead as he reeled it in. Their black, glittering eyes. 

The thought swelled like a dark wave, threatening to throw him into panic. He bit his cheek against it. 

The warm wash of Askeladd’s breath against his forehead was coming slower and slower. Small spasms of motion flickered through him like the aftershocks of an earthquake. The arm on Thorfinn sagged.

Again, Askeladd slept.

Soon after, there was a strange sensation in his ass – the pressure easing in a sudden rush as the knot deflated. He was free. 

The relief at the sensation was short-lived. He was still pinned by an arm, and the weight of Askeladd’s legs on his felt as immovable as an anchor. Extricating himself from the arm was easiest; he pitched his weight forwards, peeling himself away from Askeladd in a long, slow slide like stripping the hide off a deer.

Just as he'd freed his arms, his luck took a turn for the better. Askeladd rolled into his back, and during the shift he pulled his leg away. Thorfinn crept to the edge of the bed then slid off onto the floor. Tucking himself into a ball, he propped himself between the bed and wall, staring numbly at nothing.

Well, it had finally happened. The thing he'd told himself to expect ever since Askeladd had brought him here. The thing that, somehow, he hadn't completely believed _would_ happen, based on how things had been going. 

He had been stupid.

Warmth oozed out from him, thick and sickening. _Askeladd's cum_. The man had done as he’d pleased, pinning Thorfinn down and pushing him past the point of pain into something much worse: despair.

In spite of the gooseflesh rippling up his arms, his whole face felt hot. Burning around his eyes, like someone had kindled a lantern inside his skull. The room misted over. He blinked, swallowing past the scorching heat in his throat. _No._ He wasn’t going to cry. It was a promise he’d made himself – to never let anyone see this kind of weakness again.

Gradually, the burning dissolved, but that miserable, heavy feeling remained. Who was he kidding? What meager existence he’d managed to scrape out among the mercenaries was as good as gone the instant he left this room. He was an omega. A thing to be used and tossed aside. His whole existence a cosmic joke. 

How long did he have? Hours? Minutes? However long, the result would be the same; the heat would rise up, obliterating everything but the frantic need for release.

Thorfinn wrapped his arms around his knees, digging his toes into the floor until they ached. He didn’t want to forget – no, he _needed_ to remember how he felt right now, in this moment. How low-down and dirty. How helpless. This he could store up for later, to recall the moment he stood across from Askeladd again, blades drawn. 

He needed to kill him.

Thorfinn breathed in a slow, shuddering breath. _Yes_. Avenge his father, and then maybe he would let the next heat take him. There was no way he was going to spend the rest of his life doing _this_ ; suffering and prostrating himself ass-up before the next greedy alpha. 

Sinking deeper into himself, Thorfinn rested his chin on his knees. He was tired. Always tired. But he dreaded sleep, knowing that the next time he woke up it would be to find himself half-delirious with need. 

_Fuck that_. 

He wouldn’t sleep. 


	6. Home

The light spilling through the cracks in the door was hard and bright. Midday. Thorfinn had been shut in here for a day and a half. How much longer would this be? Was it possible for him to know?

He took in a breath, rolling it through his mouth. The scents inside were strong, but his nose was keen enough to smell beyond, out into the village. He could smell Bjorn, a faint but solid presence. The faded mixture of three other scents – people, walking by the house. If he really strained his ears he could hear the faintest rumble of conversation over Askeladd’s snores. Outside the world was still turning. 

Eyes half-lidded, he watched the door. Between blinks, thin feelers of light began to inch towards him, growing longer every time he opened his eyes. 

The glow outside was fading by the time he felt the first inkling of trouble. 

It came on so gradually that at first he didn’t notice. A quieting of his shivers. The mellowing of his thoughts. Heat slid into his belly, softening his muscles like warm wax.

_It’s time_.

Thorfinn dug his fingers into his arms, gouging bright licks of pain. _No_. He wasn’t going to do it. This time he wouldn’t give in so easily. He tucked in more tightly, as if holding onto himself could keep his resolve together. 

But all the resolve in the world couldn’t stop biology.

Heedless of his gloom, desire leapt through him like lightning. Everything inside roiled, a queasy mix of desperate want, cramping pain, queer emptiness, and anger. His cock rose stiffly. Squeezing his legs together, he refused to touch it. 

Down below, he was damp again. 

The hunger inside him was not patient. Again he had the impression of a living thing, a voice whispering insidiously in his ear. _He will give you what you need_. Within arm’s reach, a warm and willing partner who could satiate him. Never mind the pain. Pain was temporary, the heat was real. The _pleasure_ was real. Hadn’t it felt good, up until the very end?

_No._

He could smell Askeladd's arousal growing, even as the man himself continued to snore. His body flamed in response, anger melting into lust.

_No!_

Taut and trembling, his fingers were now so tight around his own forearms that his hands were beginning to go numb. Deep in his thoughts, he missed the sound of shifting hay.

"Hey, Thorfinn, what are you doing down there? I don't want to do this on the floor."

Askeladd was awake. 

Thorfinn froze. He couldn't think of a single thing to say. He wasn't ready to face Askeladd, not in the slightest.

There was a crunch as Askeladd shifted. The snakelike whisper of dry straw as he slid down the bed, poised above the space Thorfinn sat.

"Are you sick?" His voice was dryly curious. Unworried. No hint that he had given any thought to _why_ Thorfinn was crouched at the foot of the bed. And why should he care? He was getting exactly what he wanted.

"...Is this what it's going to be like every time?" 

Thorfinn didn’t know what possessed him to ask it. Maybe it was the fact that Askeladd was the only person he knew who had experience with omega heats. Maybe it was because he had nothing to lose. Maybe he was crazy. Either way, nothing Askeladd could say would make him feel worse than he already did. 

Askeladd was silent for a moment. "I don't know." There was no hint of sarcasm there, no annoyance. No lies. He was speaking to Thorfinn plainly, like an equal. 

And he couldn’t even appreciate it. His body wouldn’t allow it. Askeladd’s proximity was terrible, tempting, his scent so potent, his warmth so close Thorfinn could almost feel it. He could certainly imagine it; how easy it would be to roll forward, part himself, and have Askeladd slide home-

He dug his toes into the floor, grinding them until they throbbed. "I hate this."

And suddenly he was being swept into Askeladd’s arms, lifted from the floor and settled on the bed, legs across Askeladd’s lap. 

“What-”

Askeladd’s fingers wound in his hair, forcibly tilting his head to the side and breaking off his startled yelp. Warm skin swiped across his neck. The throbbing ache there, first intensified by the pressure, suddenly eased. 

"Do you want me to pity you? Is that it?" Askeladd said, tilting his head the other way to rub his wrist on the other side of Thorfinn’s neck. "Because I don't."

When Askeladd withdrew his arm, Thorfinn saw the bright sheen of oil at his wrist. Just like in the forest. Had he been scent marked _?_

"No, I don't want your fucking _pity_ , old man,” he snarled, trying to jerk his head out of Askeladd’s grasp. Why the hell did Askeladd always have to manhandle him?

"Then what's all this about, huh?" Askeladd released his head but then reached for his arm, and Thorfinn snatched it away. It didn’t deter Askeladd. Thorfinn continued to evade, refusing to be grabbed, until Askeladd gave him a sharp look.

He knew now what Askeladd was doing. There was something about his oils that seemed to have a calming effect on Thorfinn’s body; he could feel it in the way the pain at his throat diminished, how his shivers had calmed. But he still didn’t like being moved around like a doll. 

He offered his arm, annoyed. "What, I can't be pissed that I'm going to have to spread my legs for some alpha fuckhead every time my body decides to be shitty?" 

Askeladd rubbed their wrists together, a soft, almost sensual press of flesh. Even as annoyed as he was, Thorfinn’s body responded to it, making him shift uncomfortably. 

"Like I said before, being an omega is what you make of it,” Askeladd murmured, and Thorfinn had to tear his wandering eyes away from Askeladd’s erection. “You can either waste time feeling sorry for yourself, or accept it and move on." 

Thorfinn offered his other wrist, feeling bitterness rake his insides like claws. Those same cheap words. How could an _alpha_ ever know what hell he was enduring? What he _would_ endure for as long as he lived?

"Fuck off. You'll never know what it's like, so like hell I'm going to listen to _you_."

Askeladd’s hand on his wrist froze, then tightened, hard and unforgiving as a raptor’s talon.

"You little shit, do you really think that I _want_ to be here? That it wouldn't have been easier to give you to Skarde or Ulf or someone who's been panting after your ass since day one?" he hissed, mouth set in a grim line. Those blue eyes were sharp and cold, glinting cruelly. "Here's one lesson your father never taught you: we _all_ have to do things we don't want to."

And he dropped Thorfinn’s wrist. 

It was like being plunged into a black sea. Icy numbness swallowed him, leaving his mind blank and reeling. Oh, how stupid he’d been. _Things couldn’t get worse, hah._ Askeladd always knew what would hurt him most; he was as deadly with his words as he was with a blade, gutting Thorfinn as neatly as he might clean a fish. 

_Father._

Thorfinn had never missed him more than he did right now. 

Askeladd sighed. He slipped off the side of the bed and knelt at Thorfinn’s feet.

“Come on.” 

Thorfinn looked down. Askeladd was patting his legs expectantly, and the sight of him was so bizarre that confusion bled through his loss. _Askeladd was… kneeling?_ He couldn’t remember a time that Askeladd had deliberately lowered himself before him. It was unbelievable. Unprecedented. 

It was surprise that startled him into parting his legs, allowing Askeladd to crowd in. Warm hands closed on his thighs, squeezing gently.

“We all have to do things we don’t want to,” Askeladd reiterated, but his voice was low and husky, no longer hard. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t try and make the most of them.” He blew a cool stream of air on Thorfinn’s cock, which lurched at the sensation.

“What- what are you doing?” Thorfinn stuttered. Why was Askeladd making an advance now? Was he aroused by Thorfinn’s misery?

Sharp eyes pinned him. “You tell no one about this, got it?”

Though his voice was quiet, the authority in it had him jerking up, ramrod-straight. It was just like the command he’d given outside; irrefutable and frightening in its force.

He gulped, blinking. “What?”

“This.” 

Askeladd slid forward. His lips parted. Suddenly and inexplicably, his mouth was- it was-

_His cock was in Askeladd’s mouth_.

His mind went blissfully blank. Sensation flared in his groin, a webwork of fire racing along every nerve. Askeladd’s head bobbed. Suction dragged a gasp from him and he jerked his hips forward, wanting nothing more than to be buried in that welcoming wetness-

Askeladd pulled away, muffling a cough. “Go easy there, kid. I have to breathe,” he grumbled.

Thorfinn flushed, surprised and embarrassed. He hadn’t meant to do that. “Sorry…”

He fully expected Askeladd to just pull away; normally he didn’t have the patience for Thorfinn’s fuck ups. But as warm hands slid to his hips, his heart leapt. Askeladd’s thumbs hooked over his hip bones, anchoring Thorfinn firmly to the bed as he bent his head down.

Hot wetness slid over him. Thorfinn clutched the bed frame, trembling as Askeladd began to bob his head. 

Oh _fuck-_

What started as tingles of sensation quickly blossomed into a full-body wave of overwhelming pleasure. His breath came in ragged pants. Everything in him wanted to move. To thrust. To do _something_ other than sit here and take it!

His hands moved, as though they had a mind of their own. First to Askeladd’s arms, then to his shoulders before he thought better and drew back. He wanted to touch. To feel Askeladd moving, and move with him – but he knew Askeladd wouldn’t want that. Askeladd didn’t think he could control himself. And to be honest, maybe he couldn’t-

He caught a flash of blue eye as Askeladd looked up at him, then felt fingers encircle his wrist. Askeladd guided his hand down, pressing it against the curve of his skull. 

One fall when he was a five, his father had taken him into the fields behind their house.

"Want to see something?" Thors had asked.

Thorfinn, always excited to learn from his dad, had nodded. 

They'd walked away from the village, towards the far end of their property, where the ground sloped into a hill and a couple of scraggly trees grew. He'd been confused when Thors had pulled the dry heel of a loaf of bread out of his pocket, and ever more confused when he'd broken a few chunks off, then tucked it away. 

He'd watched his father sit cross-legged in the grass, palms turned upright in his lap, forming a bowl of breadcrumbs, and mimicked the motion. 

Thors had sprinkled a few crumbs into his hands, then a few more in the grass before them. "Now stay quiet, and don't move."

They'd sat like that for nearly ten minutes, but it had felt like an eternity. More than once he'd opened his mouth to ask his father what he was doing, only for Thors to shake his head minutely. The third time it had happened, Thors had followed the head shake up with a jerk of his chin towards the trees. And there sat… 

Three birds. 

Birds weren't rare here, so he wasn't surprised to see them. What _was_ surprising was that, after a few minutes they flew down from the trees, pecking at the grass in front of them where his father had scattered the breadcrumbs.

He'd watched with wide eyes. The birds were coming to them!

Out of the corner of his eye he'd seen his father smile.

For all his patience, he nearly blew it when they'd come within arm's reach and he'd breathed a little too loudly in his excitement. They’d startled, but quickly returned. And then-

_-the touch of tiny claws on his fingers, and warm, alien weight on his leg-_

-he’d fed the birds. 

As Askeladd’s hand left his, Thorfinn hesitated. This felt exactly like that moment so many years ago when he’d sat with his father in statuesque silence, buzzing with anticipation as the birds left the safety of the trees. That singular moment, spun thin as spidersilk in the long seconds as they’d closed the distance, had crystallized in his mind forever – one wrong motion, and it would have shattered. Now, as he settled his hand on Askeladd’s head he felt it again; that fragile web of trust hanging, unseen, in the empty air.

Askeladd’s hair was fine and soft, just long enough for him to curl his fingers into. When the touch got no response, he did the same with his other hand, cradling Askeladd's head in his palms. 

Askeladd slid forward. Liquid heat glided over his erection, and Thorfinn quivered as pleasure tightened in his gut. Again and again he was consumed. Lost in the sensation, he didn't notice that Askeladd's hands were no longer holding him to the bed until he was already plunging in and out of his mouth. 

And Askeladd was _letting_ him. Was in fact reacting to Thorfinn's rhythm, bobbing his head in time with Thorfinn's thrusts.

_Why?_

He was too far gone for coherent thought, but an impression came to him then; the faintest hint of understanding, like sunlight framing the shape of a cloud. 

Askeladd was _apologizing_. 

Or, something close to it. Thorfinn had never heard the words 'I'm sorry' pass those lips, and didn't think he ever would. That wasn't who Askeladd was. But, he was on his knees before Thorfinn in an obvious display of submission. Something that Thorfinn hadn't demanded, nor something he'd ever conceived of until the moment his cock had slid into that wicked mouth.

_Yes_. Now that he thought about it he could read it in everything; how Askeladd welcomed him in, the gentle way he had guided Thorfinn's hand to his head, even the quiet gravity of his voice.

_"We all have things we don't want to do. But that doesn't mean you can't try and make the most of it."_

He _was_ sorry.

A particularly wet slurp from below. Thorfinn's breath hitched; Askeladd was so far down now that his nose brushed the wild thatch of Thorfinn's pubic hair.

“Oh… oh _fuck!”_ he groaned, hoarse with pleasure. Too good. It was too fucking good. 

Askeladd's lust spiced the air, a scent as heavy as a hand stroking down Thorfinn's spine. He could smell how badly Askeladd wanted him, and the heat inside him flared up in answer. More. He needed _more_...

Warm fingers kneaded his balls, a pleasant tingling sensation that made him spread his legs, hungry for more. The hand drifted lower, a finger rubbing his asshole firmly. The touch reminded him of how Askeladd's cock had felt inside him, that hardness that had filled him to near-bursting. He felt suddenly, terribly empty.

The finger probed gently, then sank into him in a slow, careful motion. It was so _gentle_. He couldn’t even tell that it was in there, but for the warm spark that spread from within, a sensation that deepened as Askeladd added another finger. The third finger was a little more difficult; he began to feel that fullness again, but as Askeladd began to thrust them in and out the spark fanned into a fiery ball of energy.. 

It roared up, and he clutched Askeladd like a lifeline, burying himself again and again into that wet heat. Oh fuck, he was going to cum. He was going to cum right in Askeladd’s mouth, pump himself deep into that waiting warmth and then all would be forgiven- just a _little_ more-

As the pleasure began to crest, Askeladd withdrew both his fingers and his mouth.

"No, you bastard!" Thorfinn howled, cock twitching urgently in the empty air. He was so close!

Askeladd leaned back on his heels, the fingers that had been inside Thorfinn curled around his own erection. He smirked, tipping his cock towards Thorfinn. "You want more?" 

The moment had been lost. He wouldn’t be able to get himself back inside Askeladd no matter how he fought. Thorfinn felt wary of sex – how could he forget what had happened only hours before – but the fingers had been nice. It didn’t hurt down there anymore. And this time, he wouldn’t let Askeladd knot him.

"Get on the bed," he growled.

As soon as Askeladd sat down Thorfinn was on him, pushing him backward and clambering on top before Askeladd could protest. That evil smirk still curled the corners of Askeladd’s mouth. _We’ll see how long that lasts_. 

Thorfinn guided Askeladd’s cock inside him, breathing through the fullness until his ass met Askeladd’s hips. He’d made it down, that wasn’t so bad. And best of all Askeladd was no longer grinning; his face had twisted, tense with pleasure that looked close to pain. 

_Good._

He began to move, working up to a punishing pace. Inside the fire was burning again, stoked with each thrust. 

“Easy there.” Askeladd’s hands stroked his back, as though he were taming a wild horse. “You’re going to tire out fast.” 

Thorfinn ignored him. He wanted what he wanted, Askeladd be damned. But try as he might, he was too weak to keep up his pace; even with the added energy from the water, after five minutes his heart was slamming in his chest so powerfully that he could feel it all the way in his throat. He stopped, sucking air in desperate pants.

“What did I tell you?” Askeladd’s hands squeezed his hips lightly. _Fucking know-it-all._

Thorfinn tried to growl, but he was so out of breath that he couldn’t maintain it. “Shut up.”

“You want me to take the reins?” 

What Thorfinn _wanted_ was to cum! But maybe he could figure out the best angle if Askeladd did more of the work. He didn’t want to say that though, so he only snorted under his breath. “Tch. Whatever.”

“Good. Hold on.” He only had time to register that Askeladd was grinning again before his hands were tightening down on Thorfinn’s hips and he was driving himself up, hard, into Thorfinn. 

_Oh!_

It might have been the angle, it might have been that he was more turned on than he had ever been in his life – whatever it was, that rush of sensation exploded inside Thorfinn again, so intense he could only gasp. And when Askeladd grabbed his cock, it was all he could do to stay upright. He dug his fingers into Askeladd’s chest, clinging on for dear life.

“Tighter!” he groaned, and the ring of Askeladd’s fingers clamped down. “Oh, fuck! Just like that, _ah-”_

It was almost too much. Two conflicting waves of pleasure; the familiar one from his erection, and the alien sensation flooding through him with every bump of Askeladd’s hips. Sparks at the tip of his cock, needles of pleasure-pain. He couldn’t tell if he was going to cum or pee, but if he pissed all over Askeladd he couldn't see it ending well. 

On the next thrust, it all came tumbling down. 

The pleasure crested. Thorfinn clapped a hand to his mouth, trying to muffle an undignified whine as his cock ridged out and he came, _hard_. It was even more intense than the first time, spreading out from his core in a molten wave that had him quivering with the force of it. Eyes pinched with pleasure, he rode his orgasm, twitching in Askeladd’s grip until it ebbed. 

When he looked down, it was to see Askeladd's face twisted in displeasure. 

"Give me a little warning next time, will you?" he grumbled, and Thorfinn saw with a thrill of amusement that he had come all over Askeladd's stomach and chest, even on his goatee!

He thought Askeladd might smack him if he laughed though, so he lowered his head, letting his hair hide the smirk threatening to burst across his face. "It came on really fast."

Pulling off Askeladd, Thorfinn picked the blanket off the floor and handed it to him, averting his eyes as Askeladd huffed, annoyed, then cleaned himself. 

_Askeladd didn't come that time_ , he noticed as Askeladd swiped the blanket across his chest and dabbed at his cock, which was hard and glistening with Thorfinn's own fluids. He wondered if Askeladd would force it. It wouldn’t be surprising. He'd demand Thorfinn lay back down and then he'd fuck him until he came, probably knot him again too.

But Askeladd said nothing. Merely got up and went into the tiny adjacent room where Thorfinn assumed the chamber pot was, and then came back. 

He fetched the water skin and drank, then passed it to Thorfinn who had the rest, feeling troubled. Why wasn't Askeladd _doing_ anything? 

He couldn't puzzle it over for very long. By the time the last of the water had trickled down his throat his groin was tightening again, his body beginning to feel hot and swollen, his thoughts dissolving into muddled need.

"Already?" He stared down at his stiff cock in disbelief. There had been a lot longer break last time!

_Yes,_ something deep inside him crooned, and he caught the scent of Askeladd's lust again, thick, rich, unsatisfied. 

He turned. Askeladd was reclining lazily on the bed, completely at ease but for the erection that lolled heavily against his stomach. The pale orange light filtering through the door traced the lean curves of his muscle, the raised ridges of scars stark and livid in the darkness. 

His gut pulsed hotly. A trickle of slick oozed down his leg. Askeladd's nostrils flared, his eyes sharp and hungry beneath lowered lids. 

Thorfinn went to him.

Again and again he was devoured, plundered, milked dry. If anyone had told him before this that Askeladd was a talented lover he would have rolled his eyes or grimaced. Who wanted to think about the old man fucking? But as he lost himself in the fog of heat, it became easier to admit.

Askeladd was _good_. 

He was also fucking confusing. In a haze of lust it was hard to think of anything besides the sensations twisting through him, or the need that became more desperate with each orgasm. Still, he noticed – Askeladd didn’t cum.

He seemed devoted to Thorfinn’s pleasure, not complaining when each round left Thorfinn sated and himself still hard and wanting. It just didn’t make sense. This wasn’t the Askeladd that Thorfinn knew, the one he had already experienced. 

Was this all still an apology?

Thorfinn groaned as his cock hardened again. The ache inside was terrible, on the painful edge of pleasurable; despite the five orgasms he’d had in the last few hours, his body would not let up. 

Askeladd was sitting on the side of the bed. Thorfinn crawled into his lap, but instead of guiding his cock into Thorfinn all Askeladd did was hold him, rubbing his erection against Thorfinn’s buttocks teasingly. 

"Tell me what you want.” A low, husky murmur. Something wet tickled his ear, followed by a sharp nip of teeth. Askeladd took his cock in hand but did nothing with it, merely holding it loosely in his grip. 

"You fuckin'- bastard-" Thorfinn hissed, trying and failing to wiggle backward onto Askeladd’s cock. His whole body felt empty. "You know what I want!”

Askeladd bounced his erection lightly. “Use your words, boy.” 

_Fucker!_ This was the Askeladd he knew. He was going to make Thorfinn beg for it after all! 

Thorfinn snarled, scraping his throat raw with the sound. "Just _fuck_ me!"

A quiet huff of laughter. "Well, since you asked so nicely."

Askeladd lifted him up and laid him on the bed, looming over him like a dark shadow. He scooted forward, pushing Thorfinn’s legs apart, and it was at that point Thorfinn realized that Askeladd planned to put it in him like this. 

He blinked, disquieted. They hadn’t done it like this before. The thought of it sent a shiver through him, something molten unfurling in his gut.

Just as the head of Askeladd’s cock touched him, he panicked. 

"Wait!" 

Askeladd paused, frowning. "What?"

"Do we have to do it like this?" 

The last time Askeladd had been on top he’d knotted him, and Thorfinn hadn’t been able to do anything to prevent it. Askeladd’s weight had been an anchor, heavy and immovable. Thorfinn didn’t want to be helpless again.

"What's wrong with this?" Askeladd sounded annoyed.

_Because you’ll hurt me._

There was no way he was going to let Askeladd think he was scared. "Cus' -cus',” he cast around, looking for an excuse, “-you're going to be crushing me!"

Askeladd’s eyes flicked upward, then back, like he was barely resisting rolling them. He hadn’t bought it. "I'm not that heavy, kid. Besides, I'm not going to be laying on you at all, you'll see."

Rough hands pulled his knees apart, Askeladd’s hips pushing between Thorfinn’s thighs. Squeezing, Thorfinn tried to resist. “But I want to be on top!” he insisted.

Askeladd stopped again. "Just take a look." 

He pointed to Thorfinn's legs, which were trembling like a newborn fawn's. _Stupid body!_ He hated feeling so weak!

"You're tired. Let me do some of the work for a change." 

The words sounded nice, but Thorfinn knew Askeladd could be a silver-tongued bastard when he really wanted something. There was no way he was doing this for _Thorfinn's_ benefit. 

Fingers stroked gently down the insides of his thighs. In his stomach something fluttered strangely. He took a breath, hoping that Askeladd's scent would reveal to him Askeladd's true motives – but there was nothing. Just dark loam edged in salt and spice.

Inside he throbbed. Thorfinn forced himself to relax; it would have to be done one way or another. At least this way he could headbutt Askeladd if things got too painful.

Askeladd pressed forward, the head of his cock catching Thorfinn's rim before slipping away. He did it again and again, rubbing in slow, teasing circles that had Thorfinn fisting the straw, torn between lust and anxiety. _Just stick it in, dammit!_ He chewed the inside of his cheek, holding back a whimper. 

Then, Askeladd began to sink in.

Panic gripped him again, cold and terrible. His muscles locked up, Askeladd's cock suddenly seeming as huge as the handle of an axe being thrust into him. 

Askeladd stopped. 

Thorfinn didn't want to look at him. He knew what he would see; that narrow-eyed, thin-lipped grimace of irritation that always spelled disaster for him. Askeladd had to be _pissed_. Thorfinn had been begging for his cock nonstop for the last couple hours, and now, seemingly out of nowhere, he'd gotten cold feet? 

But instead of a snarky comment, Askeladd said… nothing.

Warm thumbs dug into the meat of Thorfinn's thighs, kneading taut muscle. It felt nice. Good in a way that sex didn't; a benign kind of touch he hadn't felt in a long time. That too was confusing. Why was Askeladd being so nice to him? He had Thorfinn right where he wanted him, so why didn't he just _take?_

That touch trailed down his hamstrings, rubbing and massaging until he nearly purred. _Feels good._ Even though he didn't trust nice, his body reacted instinctively, laxity creeping through him until he felt pliant and loose, almost sleepy. 

This time when Askeladd pushed, his body accepted it easily.

It wasn’t _so_ bad. At least, not until Askeladd arched over him. Though he didn’t squash Thorfinn like he had done before, the threat of him felt nearly as heavy; the shadow of his body almost tangible, like a boulder hanging overhead. 

As he began to thrust, Thorfinn closed his eyes. He let himself be rocked by the motion of Askeladd’s hips, concentrating on the sensation of the straw beneath his palms and the warmth radiating from inside him. _Yes_. He could do this. Just so long as Askeladd didn’t decide to suddenly flop right on him-

The motion stopped. “You can help too, you know.” 

Thorfinn’s eyes popped open to see Askeladd looking down at him, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Come on, grab on. I won’t bite.” His voice was quiet, no trace of either anger or amusement – it seemed like he really did want Thorfinn to - what, _participate?_

He wasn't quite sure what to do, but went with what felt the most natural, wrapping his arms around Askeladd's broad back. Warmth that had nothing to do with his heat crept into his face. _Too close_. It was like they were hugging. It seemed to please Askeladd though, who began to move again. 

It felt odd to use only his arms. He lifted his legs, hooking his heels on Askeladd's ass and squeezing his thighs, as though urging a horse to trot. Now when Askeladd pushed his whole body swayed with the motion, like a boat on a stormy sea. 

The thrusts were slow, nothing like the punishing paces of before. It was surprising. He would've thought that Askeladd would be desperate to have him, after everyth-

" _Ah!"_

A thunderbolt of sensation, right through the center of him. His toes curled. Askeladd paused, pulled out, then thrust back in, _hard._

Oh _fuck!_

Thorfinn cried out again as Askeladd snapped his hips, each movement dragging pleasure from him like fingers clawing at his flesh. Askeladd was- he was doing it on _purpose_ \- _how-_

He was moaning. Wailing. So loud that he could hear the echo of himself in the room, nearly drowning out the clatter of the bed against the wall. He clung to Askeladd like a limpet, all fear forgotten. There was no room for it. No room for anything in his head but the roar of pure carnal sensation.

A low rumble in his ear. Askeladd was growling, a gravelly sound like distant thunder. But instead of fear, Thorfinn's body responded with a surge of lust that felt almost euphoric. 

He clutched Askeladd like a lifeline, digging his heels into Askeladd's rump to force him in deeper, harder. _More!_

And Askeladd answered. He rode Thorfinn vigorously, the wet smack of them coming together like an oar slapping on water. The scent between them met and mingled, piquant and sharp.

_Ah_ -

He was drowning. Splitting out of his own skin, at once folding inward and fracturing under the sensations bombarding every nerve. How could one person feel so much and still _exist?_ It was- it was- 

_everything_.

Fire and pleasure. The distant ache of his bones like a candle burning the corners of parchment. A flood of heat and darkness from the core of him, so intense that he shook with it. Thorfinn ground his teeth, raking his nails down Askeladd’s back in a frenzy.

Askeladd was fucking him. Askeladd was _pleasing_ him. Was doing it deliberately, had been holding himself back before. Was being _good_ to him for the first time in his life and it was so strange, so nice, he wanted more-

"Good boy." Askeladd's voice in his ear, as low and husky as his growl. 

He bent his head, burying his face against Thorfinn's neck. Liquid heat lapped at his flesh. Thorfinn arched, exposing his throat instinctively. 

_Yes_ , something inside purred at the praise, at the feel of that tongue like silk gliding across his skin, incandescent with want. 

Each touch of Askeladd's tongue reverberated through him, amplifying his desire until it felt impossibly huge, overflowing the confines of his body. Something was about to happen. He could feel it all the way to his bones, a hypnotic pull like the tide dragging him out to sea. Askeladd’s tongue flicked over his throat, and he whined. 

_Please._

He didn’t even know what he was begging for, but when Askeladd scraped sharp teeth across the meat of his neck, he shuddered. _Yes!_ That was it! He wanted those teeth in his flesh, marking him so deeply that he would never be the same. 

“Please…” he croaked, arching even further to offer more of his throat to Askeladd. “ _Please!”_

He couldn’t see the expression on Askeladd’s face, but he could feel how the man froze. _No!_ Askeladd couldn’t stop now, he would go insane- 

Writhing, he tried to force them together, flexing his calves hard, but it wasn’t enough.

“ _P-please-”_ he begged, desperate. _Fuck me. Mark me. Do_ something!

Pain pierced his throat. Pleasure crested, a breaker dashing him against the sand. His whole body spasmed. He wound a hand in Askeladd’s hair, holding him fast as he used the rest of his strength to drag Askladd’s hips forward, forcing him deep inside. 

Then he lunged for Askeladd's neck. 

Thorfinn dug his teeth into the cord of muscle there, and warmth spilled across his lips and tongue.

_Bliss._

Askeladd’s blood, thick and metallic. The rumble of vibration through Askeladd’s teeth into his own throat, a trembling he had only a second to savor before Askeladd ripped his mouth away. The hard press of his hips against Thorfinn’s ass as Askeladd ground himself down. Bulbous heat swelled against him. With another hard thrust it popped inside, but there was no pain this time, only that incredible stretch and pulse as Askeladd emptied himself.

They hung suspended like that for a long moment, strung between tension and ecstasy. Thorfinn didn't want to let go. He had the strangest impression that if he didn't, he could keep them strung on this silvered, precarious edge forever – but of course, he couldn't.

Thorfinn released the bite, collapsing back on the bed, limp with exhaustion. Everything was hot and sticky; sweat and blood, his cum cooling on their bellies - _when had he come? -_ but pleasure still pulsed from the connection below and at the mark on his neck. 

Everything felt right _._

Askeladd pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down at him. Thorfinn could do nothing but stare back, feeling a stupid little smile curving his lips. He couldn't help it. He felt _good_. There was no other way to explain it.

Askeladd's eyes were wide. He looked almost surprised – maybe he hadn't expected the violence. The side of his neck was pink and puffy, a dark, perfect imprint of teeth welling blood that trickled down his chest. 

Thorfinn frowned. He hadn't meant to bite so hard. 

"You're bleeding. C'mere." He tugged at Askeladd's waist, urging him down. After a moment's pause, Askeladd relaxed against him.

Just as he was about to touch the mark, Askeladd spoke. "Let's switch places, my hips are killing me."

A wave of mellow amusement rippled through him. He felt the strangest urge to lean in and nuzzle like a cat. "Getting old is a bitch, huh, baldy?" 

Askeladd only grunted, rolling them so that Thorfinn was poised above him. His head lolled back on the pillow, all the tension draining from him visibly with a sigh. His eyes slipped shut.

Another pulse of that strange warmth. Askeladd had worn himself out taking care of Thorfinn, perhaps he could return the favor.

Thorfinn bent. 

Askeladd's skin, warm and salty against his tongue. He lapped at the trail of red, the taste thick in his mouth. He'd tasted blood countless times over the years in the hot rush of battle; arterial spurts carved by his blades, or else leaking from his own tongue or cheek, more times than not beaten out of him by Askeladd's fists or boot.

Somehow he couldn't muster any anger at the thought. Those memories withered away, transient as spring flowers.

He licked until the bleeding stopped, then pulled back. Lassitude heavy as a blanket was creeping over him, but as he thought to suggest sleep, he saw Askeladd's reddened mouth. Blood was drying there, and Askeladd didn't seem aware of it; if he left it, it might fester overnight.

He leaned in. 

Askeladd's lips were thin, nothing like the plush, bow-shaped mouths of the girls the rest of the men drooled over. More suited for wicked grins and harsh words than kindness. But as he swept his tongue along Askeladd's lower lip, Thorfinn felt something in his chest shiver.

He pulled back. Askeladd stared at him, puzzled. Funny. Today was one of the first times in recent memory that he'd managed to surprise the man more than once.

_Finally got one over on you, old man._

"You've got blood on your mouth," he mumbled, lowering his head before Askeladd could protest. 

He licked across Askeladd's lips again, which were parted. With them open, it was all too easy for him to dip his tongue inside, tracing the sharp line of Askeladd's teeth. 

A warm weight cradled the back of his neck. Askeladd's hand, bearing down, bringing them together firmly. His mouth sealed against Thorfinn's. 

_This is kissing_. 

He had no memories of this act aside from the chaste pecks his parents shared at the doorway when Thors would come or go. It was alien to him as a bow would've been in his hands. His mind floundered. 

The hand on his neck exerted gentle pressure, pushing then relaxing, an ebb and flow like the moon pulling the tides. Askeladd's mouth was liquid fire against him, pouring his tongue between Thorfinn's teeth to guide him from without and within.

He let himself go. 

Askeladd was a thorough teacher, his lips every bit as clever kissing as they were snarking or directing his men in battle. He whelmed Thorfinn in a warm wave. 

Hard and soft, the press of teeth behind his lips. The hand not clutching Thorfinn's nape slid down his back, crushing them together hungrily. Something like the sun was unfurling inside him, and he spread his knees further on either side of Askeladd's hips, willing every inch of them closer.

Askeladd's arms, snug and firm around him. His breath puffing out against Thorfinn's lips. The hardness below, sealing them together. He was surrounded by Askeladd, as he was always meant to be-

_Oh._

Every duel, every moment they'd ever shared, everything he'd been fighting to deny since he presented was flooding into him in a thunderous flash.

Askeladd _wanted_ him _._ And he wanted Askeladd; not to kill, but to consume – he _needed_ him to become whole. This was it: everything he'd been looking for these ten long years. 

Wetness and heat. Askeladd's tongue gliding against his. Thorfinn's cock was hard again, rubbing between their bellies, but it was a distant concern, swallowed by the lightness expanding in his chest.

_Yes._

A purr rumbled up from him, but he didn't quell it. He didn't want to. And Askeladd felt it; as his tongue delved into Thorfinn's mouth he paused, then pulled back, nipping at Thorfinn’s lower lip.

“Like that, do you?” 

The teasing lilt of his voice told Thorfinn he was amused, and Thorfinn tried to muster an appropriately annoyed response. He frowned, but couldn't quite manage to make it convincing. Everything in him was floating.

"Yeah, so what?" he murmured, leaning in for another kiss.

He wanted to stay like this forever, Askeladd's warmth in and around him, but his body would not obey. Between kisses he yawned, and so did Askeladd. The hand on the back of his neck gentled, stroking down his spine. They were both tired.

Thorfinn traced a finger along the purpling bite mark, wishing he had the energy for one more go. But when Askeladd rolled them to the side and pushed the pillow under his head, his eyelids felt so heavy he could hardly hold them open.

"Let's get some sleep." 

Thorfinn was way ahead of him. "Issit over?" he slurred, already halfway to dreaming. It felt like it. No ache in his belly, no chill or overwhelming heat – the erection poking Askeladd's stomach wasn't urgent, just a by-product of the sensuality of their embrace.

"That's up to you, but-" Askeladd pressed his nose against Thorfinn's neck, sniffing, "-I think it might be." 

"Good…" Thorfinn yawned again, so widely that his eyes watered. "M'tired."

"Me too, kid." 

Askeladd pulled a set of the furs up over them and draped his arm across Thorfinn's waist. Gradually his breathing slowed. Thorfinn watched him through narrowed eyes, drifting in the twilit place between sleep and wakefulness.

He hadn't been held like this in so long. Not since he was a kid, terrified by the violent storms that sometimes wracked the coast. He'd crawl into his parents bed, and they would nestle him between them, caging him in the protective warmth of their arms. 

There it was again: a wave of light and heat like a candle burning in his chest. 

_I'm home._

Heavy and soft with something nameless, he curled his arm around Askeladd's waist, and slept.

* * *

The next morning a sharp sound woke him. He opened his eyes to find the bed empty, but the straw where Askeladd had lain was warm. Rolling over, he saw Askeladd standing by the door, waterskin in hand. He was still completely nude. 

Thorfinn found his eyes lingering on the swell of Askeladd’s buttocks before his sleep-addled brain realized what he was doing. _Stupid_. He’d seen Askeladd’s ass a hundred times during Saturday baths, why should it be so different now? 

_Maybe because he was pounding you into the bed yesterday?_

He was still too sleepy to feel properly embarrassed at that thought, but spoke before he could think about it more. 

“It’s over?” 

Askeladd threw his head back, gulping water before he answered. “Seems like it.” He came back toward the bed, re-capping the waterskin as he did. 

“Oh.” _Dumb question._ He already knew it was over. “Good.”

Taking the proffered waterskin, he drank as Askeladd sifted through the pile of clothes on the floor, then set it aside. Now that his heat was over, they’d be back on the road again. It was a strange thought. This house had become something of a sanctuary for him in the last twenty-four hours, walling him off from the reality that waited outside. He wasn’t sure he was ready to go back.

Askeladd seemed to be. He had his pants on and was shaking out his shirt with a brisk snap of his wrists. _A leader’s work is never finishe-_

And then he saw it. A dark blemish on Askeladd’s left arm, trailing brownish streaks down towards his wrist.

“Your arm is bleeding,” he said, confused. When had Askeladd hurt himself? 

Askeladd looked down, turning his arm this way and that to inspect the damage. “So it is.” He didn’t sound surprised. It seemed more like he had forgotten about it. 

“Why?”

The briefest glance towards him. “Because I bit it.”

_What?_

That didn’t make any sense. “Why did you…” And then realization struck him. His hand was at his throat before he registered that he’d moved it, stroking the spot where Askeladd had bitten him. Only there was no bite; though the skin there was tender, there was no drying blood, no scab, nothing at all. "Wait – you didn't bite me?"

“Nope.” So flippant was his response that Thorfinn could only stare. Askeladd picked up the waterskin, took a mouthful, and then spat all over his wounded arm. 

“ _Why not?”_ Cold was filling his chest, tangling with the confusion. He didn’t understand his own reaction. Nothing was making sense, and that scared him; despite his uncertainty, he felt one thing to the marrow of his bones: Askeladd _should_ have bitten him.

“Why would it?” Askeladd began to rub at his arm with a discarded blanket, leaving pink stains on the linen. 

Thorfinn opened his mouth, but at first nothing came out. He took a breath. It didn’t help much; the words that came limping out were meek and shaky. “But… I thought…”

“You thought what?” The steel in Askeladd’s voice shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. It felt like a blade at his throat.

_I thought that I was yours_. 

When he didn’t answer, Askeladd continued. “You thought we would bond, is that it?”

_A bond._ Was that what he’d expected? It must be. What little he knew about them came back; a permanent connection between two people. _Mates_. His parents had been bonded, he knew, but they had never explained it to him, and he had never thought anything about the faint scars on both of their throats.

“You haven’t the slightest clue about what a bond means, do you?” 

The contemptuous edge to Askeladd's voice set Thorfinn instantly on edge. _Stupid boy_ , his memories whispered, the ghosts of all his failed duels echoing in his head. 

He bared his teeth. “It’s not as though I had anyone to teach me!” 

Anger was coming to life, withering his confusion. Askeladd was shrinking in his mind, once again becoming that smug, spiteful bastard Thorfinn had resented since he was six years old. 

_No_ , a quiet voice whispered. _I don’t want this_. 

“Take a look around you, boy. Do any of the men talk about having bondmates? About bonding, _period?_ ” 

“No, but-”

“Do you want to know why that is?” He stalked toward Thorfinn, looming over him where he sat on the bed. _Threatening_. Thorfinn didn’t realize he was backing away until his back hit cold wood. Why was he retreating? He didn’t back down from anything!

“Because we’re mercenaries. We don’t _have_ ties to anyone, we don’t _make_ ties to anyone.” Askeladd spat the words in his face, and Thorfinn bowed his head, not wanting to hear any more. 

_Stupid boy._

Askeladd withdrew. “Besides, you should be thanking me. You couldn’t duel me if we were bonded.” 

Through his bangs Thorfinn watched dimly as Askeladd adjusted his collar, hiding the scabbing on his neck from view. His mark. _Thorfinn’s_ mark. 

“Fuck you,” he whispered.

Emptiness that had nothing to do with the yawning pit in his stomach consumed him, snuffing out his anger as quickly as it had come. He knew Askeladd was right. Yesterday had been a wonderful delusion; for a few shining hours he fooled himself into believing he had found something. Now reality was crashing in.

Askeladd, the murderer. His lover. 

He was so fucking stupid. 

Despair dragged him down. He was sinking into blackness as cold and unforgiving as the Atlantic. Everything was frozen. He might sit here for minutes or hours or days – what difference did it make? It was over. 

The unmistakable ring of a sword leaving its scabbard split the silent morning.

He was on his feet in a flash, reaching instinctively for weapons that weren’t there. _Fight,_ his body screamed. It seemed some part of him wasn't quite ready to give up. But Askeladd wasn’t threatening him – he was actually holding his sword by the blade, directing the hilt toward Thorfinn.

“Here.” 

Thorfinn stared at it. Now that panic was fading, numb confusion was creeping back in. What the hell was this about? He thought he had finally figured this out, but then the old man had to go and do something completely unpredictable. 

The pommel poked him in the shoulder, hard. “C’mon, take it.”

He did. 

It was heavier than he expected, or perhaps he was still weak from his heat; the tip of the sword nearly hit the floor before he redistributed his weight, bearing it up. 

Askeladd smiled, a small, cold press of his lips. “Good. Now, come at me.” 

“What?” 

“You heard me. Attack!”

_What the fuck was this?_ Some kind of test? Another one of Askeladd’s stupid mind games? Or was he just trying to piss Thorfinn off again? 

Well, it was working. Why the fuck couldn't Askeladd just leave well enough alone? He'd already proven his point; Thorfinn had been used, his dignity crushed underfoot. He didn't need his honor sullied too. 

Faintly he realized that he was changing too, shrinking back into righteous anger and hate. It was familiar. So much more welcome than the emptiness and shame.

There was no way in hell he was going to attack an unarmed man. He was going to beat Askeladd the same way his father had beaten him – only this time, there would be no archers to save him.

Thorfinn curled his lip. “I’m not going to fight you unless it’s a duel, baldy.” And he threw Askeladd’s sword down. 

The next thing he knew his head was thudding against the wall, hard fingers digging into his neck. Askeladd’s face, contorted with fury, filled his vision. A growl like thunder ripped through his ears, rumbling from somewhere deep inside Askeladd's chest. Thorfinn’s body went limp. 

_What?_

His head tilted, exposing the bruised side of his throat. He was doing it without meaning to, without _wanting_ to. 

“Won’t fight me, huh?” Askeladd hissed. His eyes were like chips of ice; Thorfinn could see no mercy there, not a shred of yesterday’s tenderness. “Then how about this? Just try to escape.” 

His fingers clamped down brutally. 

Thorfinn wanted to fight, he really did – but something held him paralyzed. He hung pliant in Askeladd’s grip, unable to do anything but gasp weakly. Blood pounded in his head. 

_You couldn’t duel me if we were bonded._

Was this what Askeladd had meant? Well, he was fucking wrong, Thorfinn couldn’t fight at _all._ And if he couldn’t fight…

He couldn’t avenge his father.

Eyes lowering, he whined, a soft, broken sound. Askeladd released him.

His feet were on the ground, but he felt like he was still dangling; he swayed where he stood, trying to center himself. Everything was falling apart.

From far away he could hear Askeladd speaking. 

"You should get dressed. We're going to get a move on just as soon as full daylight hits." 

He was perfectly aloof now, snapping his breastplate on as though he hadn’t just been strangling the life out of Thorfinn. Everything was right in Askeladd’s world. He’d just spent the last day having the lay of his life, and now that Thorfinn had served his purpose, things would go right back to the way they were. 

Fully dressed, Askeladd pivoted and came back towards him. Thorfinn dove for his clothing, trying to find his weapons – but all Askeladd did was pick up his sword and buff the dust off of it before sliding it back into the hilt. 

Those cool blue eyes looked him over. Thorfinn turned his back and began dressing as quickly as he could. Being naked in front of Askeladd right now was a terrible thing. 

"Now, a bond needs reciprocal marks to form. What you're feeling now should fade as soon as I'm healed," Askeladd began his lecture to Thorfinn’s back. 

“What happened here is nobody's business but ours. I helped you through your heat, that's all. Who you spend your heats with from here on out is none of my business, and who I bed is none of yours. Nothing has changed."

A snort bubbled out of him before he could stop it. Nothing had changed? _Nothing had changed?_ That was a fucking joke. _Everything_ had changed.

_A hand cupped tenderly against the back of his neck._

_The soft, hungry press of their lips._

_Askeladd’s fingers stroking down his spine._

He couldn’t stop seeing it. Couldn’t stop _feeling_ it. _That_ Askeladd and the Askeladd in front of him couldn’t be reconciled. Askeladd had… he had _cared_ for him, at least for a moment. It had been _real_. 

It wasn’t possible for a man to put on such a flawless act, was it? 

Doubt rippled through him. _No_ . It didn’t make sense. What made more sense was that Askeladd was lying _now_. He’d let down his guard yesterday and was lying through his teeth, hoping Thorfinn would believe his bullshit. 

_Wasn’t he?_

"If you want help with another heat, I won't hold what happened today against you. But it _cannot_ happen again. You understand?" 

He just knew Askeladd was staring at him, expecting a response. There wouldn’t be one. Pulling on his belt he adjusted it until his sword sheath lay perfectly center, where it had been for the last ten years. Where it would always be. 

The soft scuff of booted feet. He looked up to see Askeladd reaching for the door. 

Blue eyes flashed at him over Askeladd's shoulder, mocking and cruel. "Besides, you don't really want a bond with the man who killed your fathe-"

As soon as Askeladd had started to speak, Thorfinn made his decision. He dashed across the room, hooking his fingers through the armholes of Askeladd’s breastplate and pulling them together violently. Blood burst inside his mouth as a tooth dug into his flesh, but his lips met Askeladd’s unerringly.

He didn’t linger. Shoving them apart, he got one look at Askeladd’s stunned face before he turned away. "Just shut up, baldy. I get it."

Askeladd was lying. Things _had_ changed. Thorfinn couldn’t have done that two days ago. Whether or not Askeladd wanted to admit it, there was something between them now that couldn’t be swept away. And he wasn't ready to let it go.

Throwing the door open, he stormed out into the bright morning light, startling a dozing Bjorn. 

_I'll show him_. 

He wasn't sure what it meant, the fact that he couldn't just swallow his pride and take this as another harsh lesson. Weakness, perhaps. Maybe that made him a twice-damned fool, but maybe it meant something else. If Askeladd wanted to forget it, that must mean it was worth remembering.

The village blurred as he started to run, heading for the forest. For sanctuary.

No matter how long it took, he would prove Askeladd wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Should I continue? Lemme know if you want more!


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